Paradocs

by Gilliam MacLuir

In real life, there was an unexplained, unsolved bombing at the 1939 New York World's Fair. This is one fanciful explanation for that bombing, as well as an alternative resolution to the 1935 Doc Savage story, 'The Secret in the Sky', as pulp-era hero Doc Savage and his team join forces with the Fourth Doctor Who at the 1939 World's Fair to fight the plans of - The Master!

CLASSIFIED

LEVEL: TS/SCI NOFORN EYES ONLY

COMPARTMENT: BOLSTER

CODEWORD ACCESS: PAWN EASY

REFERENCE: Q/Z4792-**A9

Copy 1 of 12

PARADOCS

© 2023 William Swallow

This is an unpaid work of Fan Fiction

For Free Distribution Only

Do not share without attribution

Dedication

First, to Lester Dent, for teaching me the Code and helping calibrate my moral compass;

To Sydney Newman and Verity Lambert, Terry Nation, and Tom Baker, for opening doors that were bigger on the inside to accommodate anything that could be imagined;

To Bernard Cribbins, a steadfast Companion;

To James Mauro, for bringing history to life in the most fascinating way;

And not least, dedicated to the Troubleshooters, for being stalwart friends, and finally to Rillan, Hilsh, Sande, and Sherry, for believing in me.

Acknowledgements:

We would like to thank the following and acknowledge their cooperation, contributions, and support for this project:

UNIT

His British Majesty's Government

The Federal Bureau of Investigation

The Metropolitan New York Police Department

The Archives of the State of New York

The 1939 New York World's Fair Corporation

The Clark Savage, Jr. Memorial Foundation

The Estate of Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks

The Estate of Lester Dent

The Estate of Grover Whelan

The Families of Joseph Lynch and Ferdinand Socha

James Mauro

Street and Smith, Publishers

The Conde Nast Company

The Mister Copper Foundation

Change Record:

Date: Author: Comment:

2022-04-20 Wm. D. Swallow Initial Draft

2022-07-20 Russell Secord Characterization of The Doctor

2022-07-31 Ed Rutkowski Continuity Check

2022-08-02 Mike Hilsher Characterization of Biff Merten

2023-03-30 Ed Rutkowski Pacing

2023-04-14 Rillan macDhai Editorial Review

2023-06-10 Russell Secord General Review

2023-06-25 Russell Secord General Review, Johnny's Vocabulary

2023-07-05 Rillan macDhai Editorial Review and Commentary

2023-07-06 Ed Rutkowski Editorial Review and Commentary

2023-07-27 Mike McKay Dialog for Leroy K. Jensin

PARADOCS

Contents

Prologue 1

I. The Derelict 3

II. The Master 8

III. The Ambush 15

IV. The Dedication 22

V. The Aftermath 30

VI. The Connection 38

VII. The Meeting 42

VIII. The Attack 55

IX. The Life-Flight 65

X. The Discussions 68

XI. The Soul-Searching 74

XII. The Hunt 79

XIII. The Interlude 90

XIV. The Shed 92

XV. The Battle 98

XVI. The Treachery 109

XVII. The Pursuit 114

XVIII. The Plan 119

XIX. The Trap 126

XX. The Capture 138

XXI. The Farewell 153

Epilogue 164

Author's Notes 166

References 169

Prologue:

In the summer of 1935, the United States of America was captivated by a strange and horrific crime wave. A gang of thieves and murderers launched a series of spectacular raids against persons and property all over the country, striking – and escaping – swiftly and brutally.

The most terrifying aspect of this gang, even more so than the trail of death and destruction they left in their wake, was their fantastic and perplexing means of conveyance – a number of bizarre aerial vehicles, spherical in shape, capable of abrupt movement in any direction, with no apparent wings or other control surfaces. They were also capable of hovering motionless in midair, and of moving at unbelievable speed, reportedly capable of travel across the entire breadth of the American continent in a little over an hour, immensely faster than any airplane, with nothing that could be understood as a propulsive force. These vehicles allowed them to strike anywhere, at any time, with no warning, and to escape with no possibility of pursuit.

At first, these vehicles were seen to leave fiery trails high in the sky when travelling at speed, accompanied by a rolling peal of thunder; this led the press to christen these crooks 'The Comet Gang'. The fiery trails soon ceased, but the thunder remained. Scientists believe this sound was due to the air being violently thrust aside by the incredible velocity of the ship's passage, exactly as genuine thunder is created by the passage of a bolt of lightning.

An epidemic of fear gripped the country. No vault, no bank, no warehouse – nothing and no-one – was safe from this band of ravagers who could strike anywhere, at any time, with no warning, dropping from the sky to wreak havoc and escape before any resistance could be mounted!

These vandals, having proven the police and other authorities powerless against them, even came close to completely overwhelming that noted crime-fighter and adventurer, Dr. Clark Savage, Jr. (better known to the public as "Doc" Savage) and his team. In a ferocious conflict that ranged across the entire American continent, Doc and his men pursued the Comet Gang, both to put an end to their reign of terror and to secure the secret of the ships' operation.

In a cataclysmic battle near Tulsa, Oklahoma, the entire Comet Gang perished when they attempted to use nitroglycerine to destroy Doc and his team, but instead only succeeded in detonating their own fuel storage. Tragically, all of the mysterious ships were completely destroyed in the resulting huge explosion, along with the man believed to be the inventor of the craft. (See 'Doc Savage: The Secret in the Sky' for a full account.)

Despite a long and excruciatingly thorough search by Federal authorities and by Doc Savage, no useful fragments of the driving mechanisms, no scrap of documentation, no clues of any sort were to be found. How this fantastic means of propulsion was discovered and built, how it was developed in complete secrecy and sprung on an unsuspecting world, what its operating principles were, are questions likely to remain unanswered. Perhaps we should simply be thankful that these evil men have been stopped. And yet…

I. The Derelict

It was a rainy night in New York City, late May, 1939. It should have been a cool spring night, but the weather was muggy and steamy. The derelict had been unceremoniously bounced out of the stinking bar, where the booze was watered but the roof didn't leak and the floor was dry. He staggered his aching bones down the dark alley alongside the building, hoping to find some shelter, maybe a loading platform with some forgotten boxes.

As he made his way, cautiously concentrating on not slipping in the muck underfoot – better clean rain than that stinking filth! – he heard the most unusual sound, more of a mixture of sounds. There was a groaning wheeze, rising and falling, louder then softer, accompanied by an almost musical whistle, sliding down the scale, and a grinding, thumping, scraping aspect, like someone rhythmically pounding on the bottom of a galvanized wash tub. Somehow, the sound gave the impression that whatever was making it was in pain. The derelict, who had been an engineer in a Manhattan power plant before the Crash, paused in amazement at this sound, which then stopped with one final 'thud'.

Curious, moving from one dim pool of light to the next, he continued down the alley, which came out at a small parking lot shared by the bar and a rundown apartment building next door. He had no idea what that sound could have been, but a part of his mind realized that whatever made a sound like that must have been something with power of some sort. He emerged into the parking lot. What few lights there had been were all either broken or missing, but a few windows were lit in the apartment house. There were three tired-looking cars in the lot, dimly visible, sitting on the remains of a graveled surface which was slowly sinking into the mud. Three cars, and a shed, sitting nearly unnoticed, in a far corner under a tree. There was nothing apparent to account for the sound, which he forgot immediately at the sight of possible shelter.

Cautiously optimistic, he approached the shed, hoping he could get in and spend the night out of the rain. Just as he touched the door, it swung open. What he saw made his eyes bug out in astonishment and fright, and his jaw dropped open, hanging slackly. That expression would still be frozen onto his face when his body was found the next morning, a few blocks away.

The dark man was angry. More than that, he was seething with fury. He muttered to himself as he stalked the streets of New York, dark lightning in his eyes. Tall, elegant, with pale skin and a long, hollow face with a large forehead, dressed all in black clothes of an odd cut. He had black hair, black eyes, black gloves, black boots, a black mustache, and a black Van Dyke beard. It was as if his appearance was merely a reflection of his mood. He seemed particularly incensed by any scenes of peace or prosperity, as though personally offended by any evidence of the Depression loosening its grip.

"Idiots! Morons! Incompetent buffoons! Incapable of indulging their loutish passions even with an overwhelming advantage! How did they manage to fail, by Kasterberos!" he ranted as he stalked. He had been prowling the streets for hours now, and with very few exceptions, the other night walkers and ne'er-do-wells had caught the waves of outrage coming from him and avoided him. Those who did not were extremely sorry they had not done likewise. The drunken imbecile who had stumbled in on him immediately upon his arrival was only the first.

Finally, he reached his goal – the New York Public Library – just as it opened for the day. He entered, seeking answers to some very pressing questions. What he learned changed his volcanic fury to an icy rage.

On the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, a telephone rang. The buzzer whirred three times, with long pauses, followed by a voice from a phonograph. "This is a mechanical robot speaking from Doc Savage's headquarters. Doc Savage is not present. If you care to leave a message, it will..." The voice was interrupted as a hand picked up the telephone receiver and then switched off the device.

"Hello?" Although the hand was large and hairy, its owner's voice was small and childlike, more highly-pitched than you would expect. The arm attached to the hand was also large and covered with bristly reddish hair, and almost long enough to reach the floor. Coupled with a massive barrel chest, short legs, and a pleasantly homely face, the man looked strikingly like an orangutan wearing a white laboratory coat and safety goggles. "Yeah, this is Doc Savage's HQ. Can I help you?" he asked in his childlike voice.

"That you, Mayfair?" came a surly voice. "This is the police, Detective Humboldt. Got something the chief thinks your boss should see. Get him down to the precinct Medical Examiner's office, and make it pronto! I got better things to do than wait around for you jokers!" And with that, he hung up.

The homely man, Lt. Col. Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, known as "Monk", stepped over to a powerful short-wave radio near the telephone robot and switched it to 'Transmit'. "Doc?" he queried, with no preliminaries, "Are you there? 'Hardboiled' Humboldt called – he says there's something you need to see at the Medical Examiner's office. Don't that beat all, him actually asking for us?" And with that, he switched back to 'Receive' and waited for a response.

In a few minutes, the radio crackled to life. "I read you, Monk," came the reply, in a rich, resonant voice. "I was on my way back in any case, and should be at our headquarters in a few minutes, depending on traffic. Meet me in the garage, if you're free."

"Sure thing, Doc. I just need a minute to take care of some stuff I have cooking in the lab." Despite his pleasantly grotesque appearance, Monk was a brilliant industrial chemist, with several patents to his credit. Thanks to their direct high-speed elevator, he made it down to Doc's private garage level in the sub-basement of the building just in time to see Doc drive in.

Doc was driving an open-topped bronze two-seat speedster that had started life as a 1937 Cord 812S before being modified and enhanced with a more powerful drive train, discreet armor plating and a beefed-up suspension to support it – and a few other accessories, including running boards; it glistened in the soft lighting of the garage. The car didn't even halt as Monk jumped in and Doc accelerated back up the ramp.

"Say, Doc," Monk said as they sped up the street, "That's a pretty tough nut you gave me to crack. I still think we can get the cost of that synthesis process down to the point where it'll be practical to manufacture that new chemical fertilizer on an industrial scale, but so far all I've figured out is what not to try."

"Keep working on it, Monk. If we can help pump some life back into farms ruined by the Dust Bowl, we can help put a lot of people back to work. I know you can do it," Doc said quietly. Even with the car's top down and the noise of the traffic, Doc's resonant voice was clearly audible. The rain had slackened to a bare drizzle, and the wet spray from the tires was refreshing in the heat. "Did Humboldt give you any idea what this was all about?"

"Naw. You know him. We've known him since, what, that business with the Crime Annihilist, and he's never been anything but sour and nasty. That bird wouldn't know a good mood if it snuck up and bit him." Monk stopped to hang on tight as they zipped around a slow truck. "I think the only reason he called us is that his chief told him to. And he just plain never liked you. He'd love to see them pull that honorary commission you got from the police, along with the credentials they gave you for services rendered."

"Humboldt is a large man, but his small feet cause him constant aches. That helps put him in a foul mood – along with the crimes he sees every day. He resents that we work free from the strict discipline required by the police forces. But he's a good cop, and he's honest, and those are always welcome, and in too-short supply."

"Where's the rest of the crew?" Monk asked.

"Up at the Fairgrounds," Doc replied, referring to the roughly two square miles site in Flushing Meadows, Queens where the 1939 New York World's Fair had opened at the end of April and where Doc and his men had recently been caught up in the business of the 'World's Fair Goblin'. The Fair's Theme, "Building the World of Tomorrow", had been taken to heart by an insane genius who had planned to create his own army of 'Men of Tomorrow' – a race of Pituitary Giants, cruelly created from kidnapped innocents in a weird medical laboratory secretly installed underneath the 'Perisphere', the 180-foot-diameter sphere that, together with the 'Trylon', a 610-foot-tall 'triangular pylon', made up the Theme Center for the Fair. The plan also involved using advanced, experimental electrical equipment to disrupt the city.

"Renny and Long Tom are helping Tesla's team deal with that lab of Mandroff's. When they get done with that, Long Tom is eager to draft Renny to help him overhaul the electrical systems at the Fair to try and solve the power outages they've been having. Johnny is simply amusing himself with the various official pavilions from around the world, and the unofficial cultural displays as well. And Ham is busy acting as a mediator between the Fair authorities – and the visiting foreign governments – and the labor unions. The unions have legitimate grievances regarding employment, pay, hours, and working conditions, but their demands, work slowdowns, and strikes are starting to become counterproductive. They're creating headaches and ill will for the Fair from the foreign dignitaries and the visiting public. Ham is trying to lead everyone to a reasonable compromise so that things can run efficiently. I don't envy him, but if anyone can do it, he can."

With Monk Mayfair, these others made up "The Fabulous Five", the trusted aides and brothers-in-arms of Clark Savage, Jr – 'Doc' Savage, the near-legendary 'Man of Bronze', adventurer, world traveler, crime fighter, and not least, researcher and surgeon, who had been raised from birth by his father and a dedicated team of scientists, and trained ceaselessly to reach the ultimate limits of his potential.

'Renny' – Col. John Renwick – was a construction engineer by trade, and much in demand. A gloomy man of immense strength and huge fists, his boast was that he could knock the panel out of any wooden door with a single punch.

'Long Tom' – Major Thomas J. Roberts – was a small man, thin and not very tall, and with a sickly cast to his skin, but possessed of robust health nonetheless. A pilot and first-class electrical engineer, he had leapt at the chance to assist Nikola Tesla's crew when they were called in to clean up Mandroff's laboratory.

'Johnny' – Dr. William Harper Littlejohn – was extremely tall and skeletally thin. He was inordinately fond of three things in life. These were the study of Archeology, Anthropology, and Geology; an extreme predilection to exercise and demonstrate a truly Brobdingnagian vocabulary, both in the extent of its contents and the unsurpassed syllabic count of his preferred expletives; and finally, a thorough love of the adventuring life he enjoyed with his companions.

'Ham' – Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks – was one of the finest legal minds ever to matriculate through Harvard Law School, and almost certainly the most elegant and impeccably dressed. To an outside observer, Ham and Monk were always at loggerheads, arguing, criticizing, insulting, and berating each other, constantly indulging in childish pranks at each other's expense, and competing with each other for the favors of attractive young women, until it genuinely seemed that blood would be spilled at any moment.

At the thought that Ham was losing sleep and developing indigestion and headaches trying to resolve the labor issues at the World's Fair, Monk threw his head back and laughed raucously. "That shyster! Serves him right! Maybe he'll even work up a sweat for once and mess up that pretty suit of his! Say, Doc, if he can pull that off, maybe we should send him over to Europe for a while and let him try and talk some sense into those clowns!"

Doc was spared the need to reply by their arrival at the Medical Examiner's office. An unkept-looking brick building, its appearance was not improved by the lowering dark gray clouds overhead. Doc parked the car, and they got out.

As Monk helped Doc put the car's top up, it could now be seen that Doc was a huge man, very tall, with massive shoulders and arms, but so well-proportioned that without any scale, he seemed to be fairly normal. His skin was a tanned bronze hue, with close-cropped hair two shades lighter than his skin. His eyes were a strange golden color, like pools of flake gold constantly stirred by breezes. They were alert eyes, and they missed nothing.

Entering, they made their way to the Medical Examiner's office, where they were met by Detective Humboldt. A large, overweight man with very small feet clad in black tennis shoes, he wore a cheap suit, a tan raincoat and a stained fedora. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the bronze man. "So you made it here. Let's go. The stiff is in the cold room downstairs," he said, leading the way back out the door and down the hall.

"Stiff?" asked Monk. "You got a dead body giving you trouble? What's the matter, losing your touch?"

"Wait'll you see it, smart guy. Maybe you big brains can figure out what killed him."

"You haven't told us yet – what's the story?"

"Stiff was found early this morning in front of a drug store just over the East River in Astoria when the guy showed up to open up for the day. Guess the guy didn't take a close look. Just unlocked the store, came in, and called the cops to come pick him up, he didn't want no corpse lying by his doorstep ruining business. When the wagon showed up to get him, those guys noticed, and let the Chief know about it. They had no idea what happened to this bozo, and the Chief didn't have any ideas, neither. So the Chief asked me to call you guys, on account of he knows we're such good pals. So far, the papers don't know nothing about this, and I'm hoping those guys from the meat wagon are getting too drunk to spill anything themselves."

Down in the cold room, which smelled of a faint sweet odor of decay overlaid by disinfectant, Doc, Monk, and Humboldt watched as the attendant uncovered the body. "Male, Caucasian, about five foot six, weight 155, brown hair, brown eyes. No wallet, no ID," droned the attendant. The body was dressed in a ragged, dirty shirt that had once been white, and a pair of brown woolen pants with very frayed, dirty cuffs. His cheap shoes both had holes worn through their soles. His unshaven face was a mask of astonished and amazed horror.

"Doc!" exclaimed Monk, "He has a hole drilled clean through his head!"

II. The Master

"No," replied Doc. "Not drilled. Even a fine, high speed drill would have pulled and torn at the skin, muscle, and other tissues as it spun. This looks almost as if it had been burned through. See there at the edges of the hole, it appears cauterized?"

"Yeah, but how could the heat have been focused that tight?" asked Monk. "Even if a white-hot steel needle had been hammered into this guy's head and out the back, we'd see heat effects farther from the hole. Whatever heat that was, it only reached an eighth of an inch from the center. And that just ain't right!"

"Well, if you guys are havin' fun, I'll leave ya to it. I gotta go talk to Lieutenant Pyke1 at the Bomb and Forgery Squad. Too many of these construction sites are gettin' too sloppy about keepin' their dynamite locked up, and there are too many dang political hotheads runnin' around," announced Humboldt. "At that, it beats havin' to pound a beat up at the Fair, with Grover Whelan's2 pretty-boy troops. Anyway, you make sure whatever you find gets passed on to the Chief. Everything! Or we're gonna have words!" With that, Humboldt stalked out, accompanied by the attendant.

Doc Savage gave no sign of having heard Humboldt. As he stood motionless, bent over and studying the corpse from close range, a strange noise filled the room. It was an odd sound, a low, almost musical trilling, rising and falling, tuneless, from no apparent source. It was being made by Doc, an unconscious thing he did when he was completely focused in thought, his mind racing. After a few seconds, the sound faded away, and Doc turned his head to face Monk.

"You're right about that, Monk. Whatever did this must have been incredibly hot, and it did it incredibly fast. This hole must have been burned – or melted – completely through this man's skull in only a few seconds. And there are no signs of any cracking, fracturing, or splintering of the bone. As if only the heat were there, with nothing physical..." his voice trailed off.

"So what are you going to tell the cops? That this was done by a Buck Rogers Heat Ray?" Monk asked, half sarcastically, half in fear.

"Or something like that," agreed Doc grimly.

The dark man had arrived at the library shortly after it opened, but by the time he had located the back issues of newspapers he wanted, from 1935, and gotten to the reading room, there were several other patrons already there. Although he said nothing, his rage was so palpable, the others soon left, like animals fleeing the signs of an impending storm.

He read every account of the advent of the Comet Gang, their abrupt wave of terror, and their even more abrupt defeat at the hands of Doc Savage and his associates. Having gained his answers, he spoke to himself, his voice dripping acid.

"Those imbeciles! Those brainless buffoons! Completely incapable of seeing beyond the ends of their own noses! I gave them everything they should have needed to thoroughly lay waste to this misbegotten country, and then the planet! I should have thought to give them brains in addition! The idea that my plans should be upset by some overmuscled cretin appropriately named 'Savage'! Well, he will learn what it means to stand in opposition to – The Master!"

Resuming his stony silence, he returned to the newspaper morgue, looking for all the information available concerning this so-called 'Man of Bronze'. Doubtless the man had simply been lucky – after all, Savage had only had to deal with unimaginative criminal dregs. This time, the Master would be far more cautious. He would again use proxies, but only so as to probe his target and ensure that there were no additional unpleasant surprises in store for him when he chose to personally strike the killing blow.

There was little useful information available in the library's collection of newspapers concerning Doc Savage. He had certainly made it into the news frequently enough, but most of that was sickening adulation, with an infuriating lack of any substantial details. Even so, he was able to learn about Doc's five helpers, his skyscraper headquarters, and read some speculation about Doc's background. There were references to some of his previous escapades and projects. So, the arrogant fool had at one point attempted to restore life to a long-dead leader3, had he? And most recently, he had been at the New York World's Fair, conducting a demonstration of surgical technique and getting involved in a search for a missing scientist4. The Master read a few more articles about the international participation in the Fair, filing them away as possibly useful.

The descriptions of Doc's wide range of skills and talents, his ability as a scientist, researcher, and surgeon, his dedication to being a 'do-gooder' and especially his policy of never taking a life if it could be avoided, caused the Master to curl his lips in a contemptuous sneer. This Savage sounded as though he was cast from the same mold as the Master's bitter foe – The Doctor. Although they had been childhood friends, the Master had become consumed by madness and evil, and now existed for two goals. These were to dominate everything he possibly could, and to completely destroy everything the Doctor held dear – including the Earth, if necessary!

The Master, with the tools at his disposal, could easily have laid waste to the entire country. But he knew from past experience that any attempt on his part to act openly would act as a beacon to draw intervention by the Doctor. The Doctor always made a show of appearing on the scene as though it were mere coincidence, but the Master was not fooled. It was obvious that the Doctor had him under close and constant surveillance; how else could he always show up at exactly the right moment to interfere? The Master hated the Doctor furiously, but the idea that he was being watched and toyed with drove his hatred to extremes, especially since he could find no evidence of how the surveillance was being done. He would not run from the Doctor – but the confrontation must happen on the Master's terms, when he was ready!

So he had taken to acting indirectly. This plan had been simple in concept. If the United States was not able to step in when the coming war broke out, the future development of this world would be drastically altered. The country was already in an economic depression. It would be easy to prevent its recovery and completely destabilize it. In 1935, he had nurtured a gang of dupes – the so-called "Comet Gang" – chose a likely figurehead to pose as its face, and provided them with the mechanisms needed to build, power, drive, and operate their remarkable vehicles. In a few years, they should have completely dominated the country and reduced its government to ashes. The United States should have been finished as a functioning society. Of course, his gifts to them had included safeguards, to prevent them from being examined or duplicated, and to allow the Master to dispose of them once the gang had accomplished the Master's purpose, lest they serve as the nucleus of a new, strong society. But that had not happened – the Comet Gang had vanished and been almost completely forgotten.

The idea that some apish human copy of the Doctor had dared to interfere with the Master's plan crystallized his intent. It would not be enough to simply kill Doc Savage – he must be destroyed, obliterated, his legacy tainted for all time, and everything he loved obliterated in front of him!

The Master stalked out of the library, heedless of the drizzle, the constant drumbeat in his head growing ever louder, searching the seedier sections of New York for likely-looking taverns and dives. Finding his first hunting grounds, he found a table in the shadows, and settled in to watch and listen, camouflaged by an untouched drink in front of him. He began learning the landscape of the local criminal underworld, seeking competent catspaws to serve as his – expendable – probe.

Doc and Monk spent considerable time in a close examination of the dead man, with the attendant watching, Doc using both his keen vision and his pocket magnifier. The Medical Examiner had told them that the man had been probably been killed between five and ten hours previously – so, most likely sometime late last night.

Before they left the Medical Examiner's office, Doc wrote a brief, carefully worded report for the police. He stuck to observable facts, backing them up by noting the observations that led him to them, and avoided any speculation as to the nature of the weapon. He also asked the police to ensure that the body and the wound were carefully photographed, and preserved for further examination, and that a very detailed autopsy be performed. He had also taken a few small tissue samples from the area around the wound, placing them in a small glass vial which he sealed and placed in one of the many small pockets lining his vest, in which he habitually carried many useful items.

By the time they returned to Doc's headquarters, it was early afternoon. Monk returned to his work on the fertilizer synthesis process. Doc called the administration building at the World's Fair, and asked that a message be passed to Renny or Long Tom to have them call him. Then he sat and thought, pondering what might have killed the nameless man. It seemed extremely unlikely that this could have been accidental. He feared that this puzzle was only the start of something far more deadly.

Soon the phone rang. It was Renny. "Hi, Doc," he said, sounding more morose than usual. "Is something up? It would be nice to be able to pry Long Tom out of here. He's spending so much time studying this gear, I think they might be faster without us. He wants to try and reconstruct that accumulator that Uppercue and Mandroff had built, and he's gonna try and talk Monk into duplicating that insulator stuff it used. I told him poking at that stuff can wait, that we need to clear this place so the Fair can get back on track; it's been open for over three weeks now. He's like a kid on Christmas."

"Nothing urgent enough to call you back immediately, Renny," Doc assured him. "But pass the word to Johnny and Ham that when all of you are through for the day, let's all meet back here for dinner. There are a few developments I'd like to discuss with everyone. There might be trouble brewing. Also, I'd be interested in hearing how the Fair is proceeding."

"Sure thing, Doc. We'll all be there in a few hours – unless those negotiations of Ham's drag on all night." And with that, he hung up. Doc proceeded to the laboratory with Monk and studied the tissue samples from the corpse, then walked down the hall to the library.

Doc's headquarters consisted of the entire 86th floor of the building, as well as the 85th and 87th floors. These upper and lower floors provided a protective 'buffer zone' against attacks, as well as storage and support such as a machine shop, medical care facilities, a gymnasium, a shooting range, and independent electrical, heating, and plumbing equipment, plus a generator and fuel storage. The upper floor also had a small hangar for Doc's autogyro. The headquarters proper included a comfortable, well-appointed reception area, living quarters for Doc and his men, a few guest rooms, a fully-equipped kitchen and dining room, a laundry, office space, full laboratories for electronics and chemistry, a conference room, a very extensive library, a photographic darkroom, and a thorough communications room with an even more elaborate radio rig than the one in the front room, as well as telegraph, teletype, a telephone switchboard, a detailed four-foot diameter world globe, and a complete selection of large-scale maps covering the entire world. There were also very elaborate security precautions. They had often proven necessary. Each corner of the floor also held a small observation compartment containing a powerful telescope, which could be quickly deployed to provide coverage all around.

In the library, Doc consulted several volumes, then sat absorbed in thought. Several hours later, as it was getting dark, the phone rang. It was Humboldt, with bad news. "There's been another one, Savage. Same as the first. This one happened two precincts over, and it took folks a while to compare notes. We just now found out about it. The Chief told 'em to keep it mum, but it might be too late for that. He told 'em to get good pics of this stiff, and to get their best autopsy, and to keep the corpse on ice and locked up."

"Where and when was the body found?"

"It was found at a neighborhood newsstand by a beat cop around five or six AM," came the reply. "This guy was apparently the newsie who ran the stand."

"I would suggest having your men canvass the neighborhood, and see if there were any witnesses."

"Yeah, thanks, we'd've never thought of that ourselves! Sap! The boys over there have been doing that all day. No reports yet. Chief said to let you know if anything turns up. But this'll probably be in the papers in the morning – too many people over there know about it. No keeping it quiet now."

"I'll be there in the morning. Thank you for the call."

Soon, the others returned from the Fair, and they cleaned up and settled down to dinner. Monk had broken off his work in the laboratory and prepared a meal of pot roast, potatoes, rolls, fresh vegetables, and a green salad, with sparkling mineral water. As they ate, Doc filled them in on the corpses and the strange manner of their deaths.

"Do you suspect this could be one of the weapons stolen from your phrontistery5, Doc?" asked Johnny, referring to Doc Savage's Fortress of Solitude.

"A valid conjecture, Doc," asked Ham, "John Sunlight managed to steal a number of dreadful weapons from your Fortress. Could this be one of them?" The Fortress of Solitude was Doc's secret arctic retreat, where he often spent time in solitary contemplation and research. He stored his more dangerous inventions there, as well as things they had recovered or captured from the villains they faced, and which needed to be studied far away from civilization, for safety – or because Doc regarded them as too deadly to risk falling into the wrong hands. The fact that the murderous, maniacal genius known as John Sunlight had not only discovered Doc's Fortress, but actually gained entrance, was a catastrophe for which Doc still blamed himself6. He had been asking himself the same question.

"No, Ham, I do not believe that to be the case. We dealt with John Sunlight rather thoroughly, and I feel sure that we have recovered or destroyed everything that he stole. Comparing the items that we accounted for with the current contents of the Fortress and the inventory of what had been there shows that there should be nothing left of Sunlight's loot. Even if he had studied any of the things he stole, and developed blueprints to build additional copies, there was nothing there that would account for the effects we saw today."

"Look, you clotheshorse!" piped up Monk angrily. "Don'cha think if there was any chance of that, Doc would'a already figured it an' told us? You must be going stupid from listening to all those squabbles up at the Fair!"

"Why, you baboon! If I'm going stupid from anything, it's from trying to digest this wretched 'cooking' of yours! Did you mix your chemistry set in with the spices again?" Ham retorted.

"Knock it off, you two! You'll give us all indigestion, and we've all heard it before!" broke in Long Tom.

"Anyway," Monk grumbled, "You ain't got no beef coming. It was your turn to cook anyway; I just did this as a favor to you since I was here and you wasn't."

Long Tom continued, "Doc, if you say no one pushed a drill, or a knitting needle, or anything like that through this guy's head, I'll take your word for it. But that means it had to concentrate a terrific amount of energy in a very tight spot. I'm trying to imagine how that might happen, but I'm drawing a blank. The power is no problem, it's not hard to get enough power to burn or cauterize someone, but tightening it down like that is one good trick! Any ideas?"

"None," said Doc dryly. "Think about it when you have time. This might end up being nothing, but I doubt it. The look on the face of that man in the morgue was astonishment. He had encountered something completely unexpected. And that suggests that he had seen something he was not meant to see. We'll see if this second victim shows the same expression. Whatever or whoever did this is most likely still around, and if they're willing to kill casually, we'll probably see more of them. Let's see if we can be ready. Johnny, what have you found that was interesting in the cultural exhibitions at the Fair," Doc said, changing the subject.

"Well," Johnny began, "The Fair includes a superfluity of enculturational exhibits, both in the representative pavilions established by the attending foreign governments, and in the informal purveyors of divertisements in the Amusement Zone. Several of the latter appear to be quite – imaginative – in their interpretation of various ethnologies and their customs and mores. The 'Zuider Zee' is certainly taking quite a few liberties, and some of the Eskimo demonstrations are exceedingly entertaining. And Grover Whelan, the Fair President, has a ceremonial guard troop made up of something called the 'Haskell Indian Cavalry Guard'! Indians on horseback, but with lances, wearing those blue-and-orange Fair uniforms!" he laughed7.

"However, the Cuban Village presentation is both prodigiously uplifting and fascinatingly instructional. The most erudite presentations, however, are present at the various government pavilions, particularly the Russian and Italian exhibitions. The Nipponese displays are also quite immersive and very well attended. Surprisingly, the Palestine Pavilion is the focus of a great deal of attention, doubtless as a result of Great Britain's recent release of its White Paper8. Their call for a government including both Arabs and Jews, and their restriction of Jewish immigrants to Palestine to no more than 75,000 over the next five years has stirred up a veritable tsunami of strong feelings."

"Hey, Doc," exclaimed Renny, "Isn't it the Palestine Pavilion that's due to be dedicated soon? And they're getting Einstein to speak at the dedication! Holy Cow!"

"That's right!" added Monk, slipping a bit of food under the table for his pet pig, Habeas Corpus. He had chosen the name purely to annoy Ham. This ugly shote was small and razorbacked, with long legs and ears like wings. Monk was constantly training the pig in a variety of useful tricks. "And they asked you to introduce Einstein, didn't they, Doc? How's your speech coming along?"

"The speech is completed," said Doc, seemingly embarrassed. Although he was quite experienced at public speaking, he was most comfortable performing demonstrations of surgical techniques or new inventions. He had little experience as a raconteur and habitually kept himself aloof and focused on his work. He had been asked to introduce the celebrated physicist by Grover Whalen personally. If it had not been for Doc's regard for Whalen and his respect for Einstein, he would have declined the request. He and Whalen had met ten years earlier, when Whalen had been Commissioner of Police for New York City and Doc had not yet begun his career. Doc had suggested to Whalen that the New York Police would benefit from an overhaul of its training program for officers. At Doc's suggestion, Whalen had created the "police college", a training academy to provide formal, intensive training for police officers trying to advance through the ranks or become detectives9.

"I suggest that, until we know more about this mysterious weapon and its wielder – or wielders – all of you spend the night here rather than returning to your own apartments. We may need to respond quickly if anything happens," Doc concluded.

III. The Ambush

Frankie had a sour feeling in his gut. He sat on the worn-out mattress in his crummy flop and nervously cleaned his gun for the third time, while his boys were out rounding up stuff they'd need for the operation. The fly-speck covered light bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling cast shifting shadows as it swung in the stale breeze from his electric fan. He and his men hoped that their small-time status could be offset by ambition and a bloodthirsty ruthlessness, qualities that had led the Master to them. Frankie had often dreamed about making the big time, and this job sure enough qualified as 'big time'. Now all he and his boys had to do was to pull it off and get paid. It was when he thought about the odds of pulling it off – and coming out alive to tell the tale – that his stomach got sour and his collar felt tight. He should have told the guy nothing doing, but all he had to do was remember the guy's eyes, and the look on his face, to realize that that would have been a very unhealthy decision. He had considered doing that anyway, and damn the consequences, but the Master handed him five hundred dollars up front with a promise of five thousand more afterwards – if they were successful.

'The Master', he called himself, and when he said it, you could hear the capitals. He had just showed up, gliding out of the shadows, next to their table as they played cards in their favorite joint last night and announced that he was hiring them. The joint had been a thriving speak back during Prohibition. But with Repeal, trade had moved to more posh clubs, and their haunt had developed a rather seedy feel – much like Frankie and his boys. This stranger was definitely an uptown type, and obviously a killer himself. Even so, when the dandy told them the target, Frankie had almost laughed in his face.

"You want us to knock off Doc Savage?" One of his men choked on his beer. Even in Frankie's state of shock, he had kept his voice low and goggled up at this interloper through the stale, smoke-filled air. "Us an' what army? You gonna have somebody come along wit' sponges to clean up what's left of us? Anyway, forget any of that balloon juice about us breakin' inta his place and nailin' him there. Nobody – and I mean No Body – who ever tried to hit the bronze guy at home was ever seen again. Look," he continued, his tone mollifying, at the sight of the Master's face. "I ain't sayin' it can't be done, you unnerstand. But ya gotta be smart about it! Maybe lure him outta his nest and get him distracted by somethin', then hit him from his blind side. Preferably wit' a dump truck or a steamroller!" His boys nodded nervously in agreement.

"Tell me how you would arrange it," ordered The Master. Frankie would never have believed there could be any such thing as black fire until he saw The Master's eyes.

"Now, you gotta know, there ain't no guarantees with somethin' like this," Frankie began...

Next morning, Humboldt's fears were realized. The papers did indeed carry news of the strange deaths. Some ambitious reporter had managed to get an admission from a careless patrolman about the earlier corpse, the one Monk and Doc had examined, before the order came down to keep any information under wraps. Soon there were extras being rushed into print, and some lurid editor had christened the culprit "the Skulldriller Killer".

Doc was preparing to head out to examine the second victim. He was taking Renny and Long Tom with him, as he wanted their thoughts on what could have done this. He planned to drop them off at the Fair afterwards, if no immediate course of investigation had suggested itself; he himself would stop by and talk to the police, and examine the area where the second body had been discovered. Ham and Johnny had already left for the Fair, and Monk was off to check with the police. Before the three could leave, however, the phone rang. When Doc answered, a frightened woman's voice blurted, "Doc Savage! It's the Skulldriller Killer! He's here! We're at 49th street and 9th Avenue Ea..." There was a crash, and the line went dead. "Let's go!" he commanded, and they sprang for the elevator.

Choosing a nondescript sedan, they roared up the ramp. Just as they were emerging from the exit out onto East 34th Street, there was a tremendous explosion, and the car was flung into the air! It bounced off the lintel over the exit, then landed on its side and skidded into a streetlight, then rolled over onto its roof. After a few stunned seconds Doc, his shirt now badly torn, managed to force one of the crumpled doors open and he, Renny, and Long Tom began crawling out of the wreck. No sooner had they emerged from the relative protection of the car's body than they were met with a hail of gunfire, sending pedestrians running for their lives!

Ducking back into a semblance of shelter next to the car, Doc noticed that their assailants were firing from at least two emplacements. The sedan could only provide a measure of cover from one of these; they were desperately exposed from the other. Immediately upon reaching their position of cover, each of the three had pulled out one of the rapid-firing 'supermachine pistols' designed by Doc and Renny. These weapons were capable of firing several types of ammunition; normal slugs, incendiary rounds, explosive bullets – and Doc's "mercy bullets", which delivered a knockout drug to the target, rendering them unconscious. Since Doc's policy was to never take a life if it could be avoided, their weapons were all loaded with these anesthetic rounds, which had a shorter range than conventional ammunition.

Their odds were not helped by the fact that the enemy was also firing from behind cover – mailboxes, parked cars, and the like – or by the fact that Renny and Long Tom each had blood running down their faces. Renny also had a nasty gash on his left leg, Long Tom's right shoulder was dislocated, and Doc had taken a punishing crack on the head from the car's roof. Nonetheless, they had managed to drop two of their attackers, but Doc had taken two slugs in the chest from the crossfire! Fortunately, Doc made it a habit, when there was a likelihood of violence, of wearing an undergarment made of a bullet-resistant metal weave. The force of the shots still got through, and was still able to inflict damage, but it was greatly reduced.

Disoriented as he was, Doc noticed that the ramp coming up from the garage had several small items scattered around. They looked like larger versions of the 'dynamite torpedoes' used as signaling devices by the railroads. To warn a train crew of danger ahead, a very small charge of dynamite was fastened to the rail ahead of the train. When the train struck the torpedo, it would detonate, not damaging the locomotive, but making enough noise to alert the crew. These were several times the size of a railroad torpedo, and the same color as the ramp's concrete. It must have been one of those that went off under their car.

As quickly as he could, Doc darted out and scooped up two of the intact torpedoes. He could have used some of the small grenades he carried in his equipment vest – he had some that produced thick clouds of smoke, and others that released a quick-acting anesthetic gas – but those were much more effective in confined spaces. Here in the open air, with stiff breezes blowing, they would have little effect. Ducking back next to the ruined sedan, he flung one of the scavenged torpedoes directly at the attackers with the clear line of fire, then stood up and fired his pistol at the improvised grenade!

His shot missed the torpedo by a few inches, but it had the desired effect – those attackers panicked and broke cover. Doc and Renny were able to drop them with the mercy bullets, while Long Tom kept up suppressing fire on the other emplacement.

"Tom!" roared Doc, "Reach into the car and get me a drum of the explosive rounds! I have another torpedo for these others!" At that, the other group of shooters broke and ran, also to be taken by the mercy bullets.

"Doc!" gasped Long Tom, "What were you thinking! You could have killed those men!"

At that, Renny laughed. "Holy Cow! That was a first-class bluff, Doc! You deliberately missed that shot, and even if you had nailed it, that mercy slug would never have packed enough punch to set that thing off! But the second group had to figure that one of our explosive rounds would do the job!"

Doc nodded. "I'm going to get Long Tom back upstairs for treatment, and you could use some, too. Can you manage to stay here and watch the scene? The explosion will undoubtedly have the police here soon. When they arrive, send them up."

Doc had just dealt with Long Tom's shoulder and was starting on his lesser injuries, when the phone rang – it was Renny, from the lobby. "The cops are here, Doc, and have loaded the crooks into the wagon, except for two that got clipped by debris when the bomb went off. They're going to the hospital under guard. There's a wrecker coming for our heap. I'll get all our stuff out of it and bring it up. There's two officers on their way up to talk to you, name of Lynch and Socha. I got their badge numbers." Doc made a quick phone call to the police, and confirmed that Joe Lynch and Freddie Socha were members of the Bomb and Forgery Squad, and that the badge numbers tallied10.

It was still early in the day, but the two officers already seemed tired. The combination of the Depression, the situation in Europe, labor disputes, and general political unrest had made for a very heavy workload for the Bomb and Forgery Squad. Ever since last year's rash of movie theater bombings (mostly nuisance smoke bombs set by feuding unions, but all still had to be investigated), there had been little rest for the squad. Recently, there'd been a battle between rival groups in the fur trade. One of the bombs had left a six inch crater in the sidewalk! Now political tension threatened to ratchet the city's violence up even higher!11 Hardboiled Humboldt was not wrong when he spoke of too-high tempers and too-easy access to dynamite.

They took statements from Doc, Long Tom, and Renny, and confirmed that nothing amiss had been observed at 49th Street and 9th Avenue – nothing remotely connected to the Skulldriller Killer, at any rate; the neighborhood was on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. Apparently, the call to Doc had been a ruse to draw him into the trap. The police had cleared away the remaining dynamite torpedoes from the exit ramp. Doc suggested that they check all of the exits from the parking level, since their attackers may have been unsure which exit he would use.

After they left, Renny approached Doc. "Say, Doc, take a gander at this. While I was waiting for the cops, I looked those gunsels over in case they had anything interesting. And each of 'em was carrying one of these."

"This" was a small metal disk the size of a quarter, with an odd color – not quite nickel-colored, not quite platinum. One side was engraved with a strange pattern of lines, arcs, and circles.

"I figured they must be some kind'a recognition token for the gang," Renny concluded.

"You realize, that constitutes interfering with a crime scene and withholding evidence from the police," Doc said.

Renny snorted. "Aw, c'mon, Doc! I only picked up three or four of 'em. I left plenty for the cops to find." Long Tom picked up one of the disks and began studying it closely. "Funny sort of engraving on it," he observed. Doc took the rest to the lab; when he returned, Long Tom handed the disk back to Doc; Doc dropped it in one of the pockets of his equipment vest. Soon they were again on their way to follow their original plans.

Today was far less muggy and humid than the previous day, but there were already signs of clouds gathering. Arriving at the morgue, they found the second victim to have a wound identical to the first. This corpse was a scrawny man of about forty, a bit shorter than average, and with a thin, lined face and a mouth used to habitually turning down at the corners. He had been identified as the man who ran the newsstand where his body had been found. Interestingly, police records indicated that he had been arrested a few times for pickpocketing. At that news, Doc asked to see the contents of the man's pockets. There was a comb, sixty-three cents in change, a pocketknife, a pencil, a few scraps of paper, and a grimy handkerchief. A worn-out wallet contained nothing of interest save for an expired driver's license. One of the bits of paper had some scrawled notes which looked like betting tips for horse races. Another had been torn from an old newspaper. The last was a very smooth-finished, high-quality paper with interesting markings – various lines, arcs, and circles.

"Say, Doc," exclaimed Long Tom, "That –"

"Pardon me, Sergeant," Doc interrupted, "Would it be possible to take this paper?" The bored-looking sergeant gave his assent and let Doc sign for removal of the item. It now seemed very probable that this morning's attack on them and the Skulldriller Killer were connected; hopefully, an analysis of the paper would furnish a clue.

After dropping off Long Tom and Renny at the Fairgrounds, Doc drove to the area where this new victim had been found. The newsstand was closed up and locked. Doc picked the lock and entered almost without breaking stride; an observer would have assumed that he had a key. He made a very close examination of the inside rear wall of the stand, using his pocket magnifier and occasionally drawing a small vial from one of his vest's pockets to apply a few drops of some liquid to an interesting-looking area. For a few seconds, his strange trilling was heard. Then he exited, relocking the newsstand, and began a methodical study of the front of the structure, oblivious to the passersby.

Doc completed examining the newsstand. Then he spent several hours walking through the entire neighborhood, looking for any witnesses. He hoped that people who were reluctant to speak with the police might be more forthcoming with him. His efforts were fruitless – he found no information of any use, though a few people provided their opinions of the dead newsie. He was thought of as foul-tempered and light-fingered, given to short-changing customers and occasionally relieving them of their wallets. Returning to his car, Doc drove beneath lowering skies to the local precinct headquarters, where he spoke with police who had been on the scene and read all the available reports of their interviews with local residents. After returning to his skyscraper headquarters, he checked his telephone robot and returned a few calls, offering helpful suggestions to some people seeking assistance.

His next move was to the laboratory, where he conducted an examination of the paper recovered from the second victim and the odd metal disks. This included taking photographs of both. He ran each set of tests three times, using more intricate and detailed tests each time. Again, his trilling sound filled the lab, and his brow furrowed in thought.

That evening, during dinner, conversation turned to the Fair and the international situation. Renny and Long Tom reported that the essential cleanup work at the Perisphere and the removal of the bizarre equipment had been completed by Nikola Tesla and his team. The regular Fair workmen could complete the job, and the Perisphere's 'Democracity' exhibit should be back in operation in a day or two.

Ham was weary but pleased. "I do not believe the Fair management, the labor unions, and the various governments will ever reach a unanimous accord, but there appears to be enough of a compromise in place that work can now proceed without undue slowdowns and interruptions. Thank you for authorizing me to offer bonus pay to the unions on your behalf for work completed on or ahead of schedule with no deficiencies, Doc. That, and insistent appeals to the unions and the management to consider the impression the Fair will make regarding New York and America around the world, was quite useful in alleviating some very stubborn confrontations. I was able to keep the amounts below the ceiling we had discussed, and I made it quite clear to Mr. Whelan and to the Fair's financial directors, Mr. McAneny and Mr. Gibson12, that this was a singular offer, your assistance to help ensure that the Fair gets off to a good start, and that this offer will not be repeated. However, I believe it will take several days before my headache completely subsides."

"Pity you didn't come down with laryngitis, you long-winded shyster," mumbled Monk around a mouthful of lamb chops. Ham must have been exhausted; for once, he let the insult pass.

Monk continued, "I been all over Humboldt's precinct. Thank heaven he was out on calls all day. I'm about cross-eyed from reading reports. It sure takes them a lot of paper to say nobody saw nothin'."

"Cross-eyed? Who could tell the difference? And since when can you read?" retorted Ham, but his heart wasn't in it.

"We need to follow every angle we can think of," Doc said. "There have been two of these strange killings, and it seems prudent to expect that there will be more. We have no idea of the killer's motive or goals. In a city of this size, someone has seen – or will see – something useful. Our job is to find the information we need to stop this before any more innocent people die. In the meantime, we have managed to learn a few things." He told them of his investigations of the news kiosk, the metal disks, and the strange paper. "There appeared to be minute traces of blood and brain matter on the rear wall of the newsstand. Whatever caused the death of the proprietor carried enough force to spray material for several feet. Monk, you might consider whether there are any additional tests we might apply. Were you able to speak with the captured gunmen who attacked us? They may or may not be part of this Skulldriller business. Perhaps our attackers were sent by the Skulldriller, fearing our investigation. The odd nature of those deaths and the unusual tokens might indicate a connection, but that is mere conjecture."

"The ones in the lockup clammed up pretty good. They seemed scared, and not of us, or of the cops. One of 'em tried to feed me some baloney about them having a grudge against you, but I think he was lyin'. I think somebody hired them to come after us, and put a good scare into 'em. Lookin' at those metal disks they had and those screwy results from the tests you did on them, they don't seem like anything I'd expect to see on a cheap thug. But the two in the hospital were more interesting. I stopped off there, and they were still out like lights. One of 'em woke up about halfway while I was there and started mumbling something about a guy dressed in black, called him 'Master'."

"Doc, we oughtta tell the cops to keep a close eye on those birds!" exclaimed Long Tom. "If they were hired, their boss might want to stop 'em from talking! This 'Master' is probably the Skulldriller Killer!"

"It's certainly worth warning the police about," Doc agreed.

Changing the subject, Johnny related the latest wonders he had seen at the Fair, including a fascinating statue called 'The Harp', at the Contemporary Arts Building, created by sculptor Augusta Savage13. "Have you neglected to inform us of other notable members of your family tree, Doc?" he asked.

"I believe, Johnny, that if you investigate, you will find that we are not related," replied Doc.

"In any event," continued Johnny, "one of the most common topics of conversation amongst the attendees seems to be the veritable bombshell effect of the publication of Great Britain's White Paper on the subject of Palestine. It has had the effect of focusing attention on the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion tomorrow. Between the interest instigated by this revelation, and the public's fascination with Professor Einstein and with you, Doc, I believe that you will find that you have a far more extensive audience tomorrow than you might have anticipated."

Tomorrow, May 28, dawned with the promise of a real scorcher. Doc's men were already at the Fairgrounds, checking everything around the Palestine pavilion and the Government Zone. The official activities were due to begin at 11 AM, but Doc was familiar with Grover Whelan's penchant for elaborate ceremony – Whelan was the man who invented the famous New York 'ticker tape parades', after all – and knew that it would be early to midafternoon before he was due to introduce Einstein. It was only 8 AM, so he had time for his daily regimen of exercises, mental training, and practice to keep his senses sharp before changing into a suit and leaving for Flushing Meadows.

So, mused The Master to himself, there would be very large crowds on hand to watch Savage introduce the noted physicist. And Savage had heard his name, not that it would do him any good - He should have killed those gangsters. Savage believed there would be more of these mysterious murders. Perhaps he could reactivate his original plan and deal with Savage in a single stroke. If Savage himself were to kill the physicist...

IV. The Dedication

At the World's Fair, there was a narrow open area behind the official British Pavilion, between it and the Italian Pavilion, which had their backs toward each other. This was near the edge of the grounds; on the other side, in front of the Italian Pavilion, lay only Continental Avenue, beyond which lay the Polish Pavilion and the chain-link fence marking the boundary of the Fairgrounds. The Polish Pavilion, with its tall, airy tower, usually did a brisk business at its restaurant, but it was too early in the day for many customers, and most people had crowded the Court of Peace for the Palestine dedication. There were no people present to notice the odd sound between the British and Italian pavilions. Only the huge statue of the goddess 'Roma' atop the Italian pavilion bore witness – and her back was to the sound.

It was a strange combination of sounds. The first thing the ear noticed was a groaning wheeze. It rose and fell, louder and softer, as if made by some bizarre bellows. It almost seemed like the labored breathing of some large, weird beast. The next part of the sound that a listener would be able to separate from the whole was a sort of almost musical whistle, reverberating from a high pitch down the scale to a lower register. The final component was a rhythmic thumping, with a grinding and scraping character to it as well. It was a sound that carried impressions of pain and struggle.

As the sound continued, a faint light slowly became visible in the air immediately next to the British building. This light came and went with the rhythm of the sound, becoming brighter and fainter as the sound grew and shrank. With each cycle, a phantasm slowly appeared beneath the light, gradually becoming more detailed and more solid, until with a final 'Thud', the sound stopped, and the spectre achieved full solidity.

It appeared to be a large wooden box, about three and a half feet square in depth and width, and about seven feet tall, with almost another foot of height for a sort of stepped roof with a small cylindrical glass light fixture in the center of the top. This had been pulsing a white light in time with the sound as the box faded into being. The box itself was a dark blue, with two small frosted glass windows on each side, at about eye level. Above the windows was a sign – "POLICE Public Call BOX", and one side was almost completely occupied by a double door. The left door bore another sign – "Police Telephone FREE for use of PUBLIC - Advice & Assistance obtainable immediately - Officers & Cars respond to all calls - PULL TO OPEN".

As if to deny its dramatic entrance, the box proceeded to sit there most prosaically, showing no odd behavior at all. After a few minutes, its right-hand door swung inward, and the clown emerged.

He was a tall man with fair skin, a large mass of very curly brown hair, slightly bulbous eyes, a mobile face, and a wide and expressive mouth with too many teeth; his grin appeared to have been welded on, and his dark eyes had a merry cast. He wore a wide-brimmed dark brown hat that seemed to have been sat upon a few times. The collar of his white shirt was turned up, and he wore a sort of plaid-patterned houndstooth vest over that, with a very badly knotted burgundy tie, baggy tan trousers, large well-worn boots, and a long, open, dark brown topcoat with large pockets. Wrapped several times around his neck was a coarsely knitted scarf with alternating bands of random colors and widths; this scarf must have been over twenty feet long, and the ends hung down below his knees.

Emerging from the box behind him was a slim young woman. She was slightly over average height, with long straight hair, mostly brown with a bit of auburn, and a clear oval face. She was dressed in a short blue sports dress with short sleeves. What appeared to be a mid-thigh length skirt was revealed to be a sort of culottes as she moved; she had a pair of calf-high soft leather boots on her feet. Whereas the clown was grinning like a small boy anticipating a treat, she seemed quite wary. The clown closed the door to the box, and they walked away.

"That was quite a rough landing, Doctor," she remarked to her companion as they strolled.

"Yes," replied the clown, his face now showing a mild scowl. "The TARDIS seemed quite reluctant. It's been working very well, lately; I think something must have happened to the fabric of time around here14. I had planned to land in the Amusement Zone, near the 'Time and Space Theater'. But at least we've arrived safely, and I'm looking forward to seeing the Fair – and showing it to you, Leela."

The young woman, Leela, was not merely an innocent young woman. Although completely human, she had been born hundreds of years in the future, on a far-distant planet circling a different star, and was a trained and experienced warrior, capable of ruthlessness and sudden violence.

The blue box was indeed not a British police telephone booth; it was a powerful and sophisticated vehicle, capable of traveling through both space and time. The unbelievable science and engineering that had gone into its design and construction had also separated the dimensions on the inside of the box from the dimensions on the outside of it. That is, the space inside the box was unrelated to the space on the outside, and allowed the interior of the box to be immensely larger than its exterior dimensions. This was signified by its name – TARDIS, or 'Time And Relative Dimensions In Space'; the spatial dimensions on the interior were relative only to the structure of the vehicle, not to the surrounding environment. Normally, a TARDIS camouflaged itself in a form appropriate to its locale, but the clown (who referred to himself only as 'The Doctor') had a TARDIS that was worn out and in need of overhaul. On his first trip to London in it (arriving in the early 1960s), it had gotten stuck in the appearance of a British Police Call Box.

And the Doctor himself, despite his clownish appearance and demeanor, was far, far more than a silly man. He was an alien, human in appearance only. A native of the planet Gallifrey (as was his erstwhile friend-turned-foe, 'The Master'), his people were exceedingly long-lived and, due to their science and technology giving them near-absolute control of Time, Space, and Dimension, referred to themselves as 'Time Lords'. (The Doctor often referred to them in private by far less complimentary names.)

The official policy of the Time Lords was one of neutrality. They were quite enthusiastic about viewing, studying, researching, and cataloging anything at all in the universe, but actually interacting – interfering – changing things – was a serious crime among them.

For the Doctor, this was not enough. He dearly loved spending as much of his long life as he could traveling, experiencing, making friends and bearing witness to all of the marvels and wonders of the universe. But he was deficient in the callous aloofness characteristic of most of his people, and had a distinct streak of compassion that led him to constantly get involved wherever (and whenever) his travels took him. When he encountered Leela's people, they had lost the knowledge of their past as an Earth Colony and their access to technology, and were in a state of near savagery. The Doctor helped set them on a path that would allow them to reclaim their heritage, and when he left, Leela traveled with him. He had been attempting to broaden her horizons and teach her to control her more bloodthirsty tendencies since then. This trip to the World's Fair was part of her education.

Together, they strolled along the edge of the red-and-pink "Government Zone" – the seven 'zones' of the Fair were all color-coded – next to the "Gardens on Parade" exhibit (part of the orange-colored 'Community Interest' zone) and around toward the Court of Peace (back in the Government zone).

As they walked, Leela scowled, and idly drew one of her knives, which had been tucked inside the top of her right boot. A passing woman with two young children stared, then asked the Doctor, "Is she safe?"

"Of course!" replied the Doctor, cheerfully. "As long as she gets a steady diet of human flesh!" and favored her with his broadest, sunniest grin as she went pale and ran off with her children.

Flustered, Leela immediately returned her knife to its sheath, and directed a furious glare at her companion. "Doctor! I am not a cannibal!"

"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure she took us for part of some exhibit," returned the Doctor, still smiling.

As Johnny had predicted, the crowd was perhaps the largest yet seen at the Fair. Over a hundred thousand people packed the Court of Peace (across Rainbow Avenue and on the other side of the Lagoon of Nations from the Palestine Pavilion). People had come from as far away as Bombay, Bolivia, and Alaska – not yet a state. The press section was overrun by spectators. At two-fifteen, a cordon of police practically had to carry Einstein and the various speakers and dignitaries to the elevated platform, protected from the crowd by a waist-high partition behind which were the seats for the official party and the speaker's podium. Grover Whelan, the Fair's President, uneasy in front of a crowd for perhaps the first time in his life, declared the World's Fair to be "first and foremost, a forum for all nations and all peoples." Mayor LaGuardia stated that "this pavilion is a demonstration of what Jews have accomplished in reclaiming arid wastes; it may point the way to similar work which fugitives from persecution can do in our country."15

Then it was Doc Savage's turn. He scanned the crowd, locating his five aides and checking for anything that might pose a threat, then began. "As you all know, the Theme of this Fair is 'Building the World of Tomorrow'. For this world to be a good world, peaceful and worth living in, we must all take part in building it. And every one of us will take part in building the world of tomorrow, by our every action. It is up to people such as Professor Einstein to help show us the truth of the universe we live in, of our world and of ourselves. It is only by knowing these truths as well as we can that we can hope to make wise decisions about our world and about our tomorrows, and we thank and honor Professor Einstein and his brothers in science for their work. But we dare not shirk our own duty to play our own parts in this great work; men of science and vision can and will guide us, but cannot do the work for us. We must each do all we can to make The World of Tomorrow a better world than yesterday's. This is a job so crucial and important that everyone must bring all of the strength and love we can to the task, because every choice we make is a part of building this world to come. And with that, I give you Professor Albert Einstein."

"The World's Fair," Einstein began, "is in a way a reflection of mankind. But it projects the world of men like a wishful dream. Only the creative forces are on show, none of the sinister and destructive ones which today more than ever jeopardize the happiness, the very existence of civilized harmony. Such a presentation seems fully justified, though it be one-sided. Whoever has learned to appreciate and admire the positive side of man's aspirations is sure to be willing to protect and, if necessary, to fight with all his might in defense of what has been achieved.

"I am here entrusted with the high privilege of officially dedicating the building which my Palestine brethren have erected as their contribution to the World's Fair," Einstein continued. "Palestine is exposed to constant attack, and every one of its members is forced to fight for his very life. Nothing of this shows here. We see only the quiet, noble lines of a building and within it a presentation of the Palestine homeland. May the fine creative spirit of those who have built this structure find an understanding and appreciative public."

At that point, in the few seconds before the assembled crowd realized that Einstein's dedication was over, everyone was stunned to hear Doc Savage's voice cry out loudly "Death to Einstein!"16

Reaching the Court of Peace shortly before the speeches began, the Doctor and Leela began working their way through the crowd towards the speaker's platform, aided by the Doctor's height and Leela's ruthless willingness to apply knees and elbows as needed to clear a path (she was on her best behavior - she did not draw a knife). Their path led them to one side where they could see the area behind the rostrum; by that time, Doc Savage was completing his introduction.

Suddenly, the Doctor froze. Leela immediately did likewise, and noting the direction of the Doctor's gaze, looked that way as well, and quickly noted the black-clad figure standing alone on the grass behind the canvas backdrop at the rear of the platform. "What is it?" she hissed, as Einstein spoke.

"The Master! Whatever his purpose in being here, it can't be good! We need to be very, very cautious. Our only chance is to prevent him from seeing us..." but he was speaking to himself; Leela had already taken off – she and the Doctor had encountered the Master before.

The unexpected exclamation, "Death to Einstein!", froze the audience into immobility. Only one person was seen to move. Doc Savage immediately leapt to the podium and tackled the physicist to the floor! This was followed by the unmistakable bull-fiddle roar of one of Doc's supermachine pistols. This broke the spell holding the crowd; they were convinced that they had just witnessed the Man of Bronze go berserk and kill one of the most famous scientists in the world! Panic swept through the crowd in seconds. Doc's men, stationed at various points throughout the throng, had been as stunned as all the rest. But whereas the vast sea of Fairgoers were frantically trying to flee the vicinity, the Five were bound to reach the speaker's platform, a task somewhat akin to swimming through a tidal wave. The only others not running were a few news photographers, taking pictures as fast as they could.

On the platform, a few of the notables had been struck by gunfire. Doc Savage and Albert Einstein were still out of sight behind the partition at the front of the rostrum. In the crowd, Monk bellowed his combat roar, so different from his normally childlike speaking voice, and began wading through the crowd like a charging bull ape, throwing people out of his way. Renny likewise was managing to plow through the mass of humanity around him, despite the recent gash on his leg. Ham, although ill-equipped to emulate the bull-rush approach of his compatriots, made good use of his agility and the sharp tip of his tightly-furled umbrella. He might have made better time had he drawn the slender sword concealed in its shaft, its tip coated with a knockout drug. But even in the press of an immediate crisis, these were innocent bystanders, and he would not draw steel on them, tempted as he might be. Johnny and Long Tom (who was hampered by his shoulder injury), however, were unable to make any headway, and focused on preventing anyone from being trampled underfoot in their immediate area.

Behind the speaker's rostrum, Leela had managed to rush the Master. As she had emerged from the massed crowd, he had been concentrating on aiming a large, strange handgun at a particular point in the canvas backdrop behind the speakers on stage, and did not immediately notice her. Leela drew a small blowgun from one of her pockets, loaded it, and took a careful bead on him, launching a small dart just as he opened fire with a continuing fusillade. The range was long for her weapon, and the dart missed her target and deflected off of his gun, disturbing his concentration and his aim.

In seconds, the gun had exhausted its ammunition, and the Master quickly fitted a fresh magazine into the supermachine pistol he had taken from Doc's car earlier. The Doctor had just broken free of the crowd and was charging at them as fast as his long legs could carry him, the ends of his scarf streaming behind. The Master finished reloading, and abruptly swung to take aim at Leela, who had reloaded her own weapon with a fresh dart and was also charging at her target. She fired her dart at the Master just as he sent a brief burst at her from his gun. Struck by multiple projectiles, Leela collapsed to the ground!

Still at a full run, the Doctor drew a small, oddly-shaped metal rod from one of the voluminous pockets of his coat and pointed it at the Master. The rod emitted a high-pitched warbling, buzzing whistle, and the Master's stolen weapon jammed. Dropping the firearm, the Master ducked underneath the speaker's platform.

On the platform, Doc Savage noted that the gunfire had stopped – at least for now. He confirmed that Dr. Einstein, who he was sheltering with his own body, was apparently not injured, although he was in a state of shock. Addressing the scientist in German, Doc told him, "Stay calm; I'm protecting you," but there was fear in Einstein's eyes in addition to shock. Doc pitched his voice to a commanding tone, and addressed the others on the platform. "Anyone who is uninjured, administer first aid to the wounded! Stop the bleeding and don't move anyone unnecessarily! And STAY DOWN!" but most of the others were dazed, confused, and fearful, and their response was chaotic.

Behind the stage, the Doctor knelt beside Leela. There was almost no sign of blood, and she showed a strong pulse; she was, however, completely unconscious. "You will rush in, won't you? If not, you wouldn't be Leela of the Sevateem," the Doctor sighed, and slung her over a shoulder and picked up the Master's discarded weapon, just in time for Monk to round the corner, heading for the stairs up to the platform! Monk had a clear view of a strange scarecrow of a man with a woman's body over his shoulder and one of their own guns in his hand. Bellowing a challenge, he rushed toward them at full speed! Stuffing the gun in a pocket, the Doctor set out at a dead run; he was burdened by Leela, but his legs were longer than Monk's, and he had had a great deal of practice running during his long life.

By this time, Renny had accumulated a few policemen, helping them make their way to the platform, where they began sorting out the confused officials. Ham, who had started out on the opposite side of the Court from Monk, finally made his way to the side, also looking for the stairs up, when he heard Monk's bellow of "Assassins! They're gettin' away!" and saw his comrade haring off after his quarry. Ham immediately set off in pursuit, steadily gaining ground.

Up on the stage, order was quickly restored once the actual shooting stopped. Mayor LaGuardia had had his left arm grazed by an errant bullet, and Grover Whelan had taken a shot in his abdomen. A few others had minor scratches from flying bits of splintered wood. Doc Savage left Einstein in the care of Renny, trusting the big engineer to keep him safe. Doc and the police tended to the victims. The officers did what they could to clean the Mayor's arm and bandage it, while Doc dug into the equipment vest he was still wearing under his tailored suit for an abbreviated first aid kit and magnifier, and began working on Mr. Whelan's wound. "The biggest crowd and the best weather we've had yet for the Fair, and this happens! Am I cursed?" the Fair President mumbled incoherently before passing out. While Doc was treating the injury, Long Tom and Johnny finally arrived to help watch for other threats and keep the dignitaries calm. One of the police officers was dispatched to call for ambulances.

Once the immediate needs of the situation had been met and the wounded were out of danger, the remaining policeman approached Doc, clearly embarrassed. "Sir, I hope you realize that we will need to have you come with us until we get statements from everyone and this has been investigated. Please don't make this difficult."

"Why, you..." Renny began, his huge fists knotting up in anger and his face reddening. Before he could go further, Doc interrupted him. "I understand, officer. Thousands of people heard my voice threaten the life of Professor Einstein, and in the confusion, no one will be entirely sure of what happened. I will go with you once we are sure that these people are safe and that there is no continuing threat.

"I would ask two things," Doc continued. "First, please note that the splintering of the wood supporting the rear backdrop shows that the gunfire came from behind the stage. Second, since my assistants were not present on the stage during this attack, I would appreciate it if they could remain here and conduct a preliminary investigation. They understand the importance of not disturbing anything until the police have made their own investigation. In fact, they can ensure that the crowd does not contaminate the scene. I would also suggest leaving an officer or two with them as a precaution and to confirm that they do nothing untoward. Renny, I'm sure I can trust you, Johnny, and Tom with this." Renny said nothing, but nodded reluctantly.

As an afterthought, Doc added, "It may be advisable to put out a call for all of the press photographers who were here to bring their pictures to the police in case any of them caught anything useful. The Fair itself might have had motion picture cameras recording this event, as well. If so, that film should be secured by the police as soon as possible."

"Say, Doc," spoke up Long Tom, "Those press birds are probably already bringing out extras with huge headlines about how you tried to kill Einstein!"

"Perhaps Ham can speak to them about the advisability of getting the police report before rushing into print. Where are Ham and Monk, anyway?"

"Their current locational loci are a complete conundrum to me," contributed Johnny, "but if I am not absolutely in error, I believe Monk was engaging in some vociferous protestations from the area on the posterior side of this platform."

"I, too, would like to accompany the police and make the statement, ja?" said Einstein, now somewhat recovered. "As the apparent subject of this violence, I believe the police may be interested in my own observations."

It should not have been difficult to follow a figure as outlandish as the Doctor, given his height, his bizarre outfit, and his unconscious burden, and indeed it was not. However, due to the press of the still frightened crowd, Monk and Ham were unable to gain much ground on their quarry. The chase led them to the Lagoon of Nations, then west toward the British Pavilion.

The Doctor's goal was simple – he wanted to get Leela to the TARDIS, check her wounds, and give her medical care. After that, he needed to consider how to locate the Master. Passing the British Pavilion, he ducked into the space between it and the Italian Pavilion – and drew up short.

The TARDIS was gone!

V. The Aftermath

At the speaker's platform where the dedication and the subsequent excitement had taken place, all attention was focused on the spectacle of the wounded dignitaries being loaded into ambulances, and Doc Savage and Einstein getting into the rear of a police car, while a cordon of officers held back the crowd. No one was watching the area at the rear as a tall man clad in black quietly and unobtrusively emerged from underneath the platform and simply walked away, strolling peacefully toward the pavilion for Brazil, with a sun hat pulled low over his head and face. He disappeared into the crowd just as Renny, Johnny, and Long Tom, together with a group of policemen, worked their way around to the rear of the platform, carefully and methodically examining the structure and the grounds around it.

They were soon joined by a striking young woman. She was tall and tanned, and quite beautiful, with long hair of a bronze hue and eyes like pools of gold flake, and wore a summer weight cotton frock in light green. "Hi there," she asked Johnny, "Could you use another set of eyes?"

"Pat!" exclaimed Johnny gladly. "Indubitably! It is always a superlative pleasure to have your company! There would appear to have been some sort of contretemps occurring in this circumjacency during the fracas which implicated Doc in the unwarranted onslaught upon Professor Einstein. We are endeavoring to accomplish two objectives here. First, to preserve the scene for a more in-depth examination by the official detectives, and second, to attempt to ascertain the actual events transpiring here. Please feel free to assist us in this examination, but the first criterion must be to obviate disturbing anything counterproductively."

This young lady was Patricia Savage, cousin to Doc. She made her living as a designer of ladies' fashions and in cosmetology, which provided her with a comfortable income, no fixed schedule, and allowed her free time to try and join in the adventures of her cousin and his friends – a pursuit actively discouraged by Doc, much to Pat's disgust. She was at the Fair working in the Hall of Fashion and the Maison Coty exhibit next to it in the Community Interest zone, a short walk from the Palestine Pavilion.

The search of the area went slowly, since extreme care was being taken to preserve the scene as much as possible. Half of the police were engaged in keeping bystanders out, and the other half were keeping a very close eye on Doc's team, to ensure that they did not remove – or add – anything. Johnny, with his experience in archaeological digs, directed the search, and it was he who spotted the traces left behind by the Master, the Doctor, and Leela. Pat, searching the area, found a small, odd object. It was the dart fired by Leela, which had interrupted the Master's attack. The police were called over; they noted where it was found and put it in a small envelope.

The Doctor's normally clownish face was now a solid picture of dismay. The TARDIS didn't seem to want to land – could it have simply decided to leave? ran his confused thoughts. Before he could address the whereabouts of his temperamental vehicle, pressing though that question was, the matter of evading his pursuers had to take priority. He had run around the west side of the British Pavilion and into the area between it and the Italian Pavilion. The men chasing him could not be very far behind. If he doubled back, they would be sure to intercept him. He could continue forward, eastward, and get out of this comparatively narrow space. But that would lead him straight out into President's Row North, at the side of the Court of Peace, and even with a heavy crowd, a man running with an unconscious woman over his shoulder would be certain to attract far too much notice.

But he was in luck! Up ahead, a truck had just made a delivery here at the rear of the Italian Pavilion, and the driver was just starting its engine. Barely pausing, the Doctor ran, his long legs (and his scarf) flying. He was just able to deposit Leela into the open back of the truck as it started to move, pulling himself aboard as the driver shifted into second. The truck had a canvas roof over the bed, stretched over metal arches, and some tarpaulins loose in the bed. The Doctor flung one over himself and his companion just as Monk and Ham came pelting around the corner.

"They ain't here!" bellowed Monk angrily.

"You simpleton! They must be in that truck! Look, there's a bit of that ridiculous scarf hanging from the back!" retorted Ham. But by then the truck had rounded the corner onto Continental Avenue and was accelerating away.

Monk was off like a shot, barreling after the truck. Ham, on the other hand, dashed straight for the door to the pavilion. Although the two would fight vociferously about it later, they had adventured together long enough to know how each other operated. Monk would pursue the truck, in hopes that it would soon make another stop and allow him to catch up, or that he could perhaps commandeer a vehicle in which to continue the chase. Ham was covering the possibility that the truck would elude Monk, and would query the personnel in the pavilion where the truck came from, in hopes of locating it and the driver later.

It looked like Ham's efforts would be necessary. By the time Monk made the turn onto Continental, the truck was no longer in sight. There were no handy vehicles around which he could make use of, and the area was still barren of pedestrians who might have pointed out the truck's path; the crowd had not yet returned following the fracas at the dedication. Monk continued searching down Continental, past the Netherlands Pavilion and the Polish Pavilion, but there was no sign of his quarry. He returned to the Italian Pavilion in time to see Ham emerge.

"Dagnabbit, that blasted truck just vanished into thin air," complained the apish chemist.

"I suppose it just turned into a ghost and wafted away in front of your eyes," replied the lawyer acidly. "Fortunately, I was able to secure the name, address, and phone number of the trucking company. I'd have called the firm and gotten the driver's name and route, but as this is Sunday, no one will be in the office. Let's head back to the others and see what they've turned up."

Meanwhile, at the local precinct office, Doc Savage and Einstein were being questioned by the police in separate, rather dingy interrogation rooms. Einstein, now recovered from his shock, had provided a clear, straightforward account of the events as he had experienced them. "Will you be pressing charges against Mr. Savage for this attempt on your life?" one of them asked him.

The scientist looked perplexed. "Why should I, since he has not made any attempt on my life?"

"He was clearly heard to yell 'Death to Einstein' before the shooting started" the policeman replied.

"Ach, no, that he did not. Do you not see? It makes not the sense! He pulled me down and shielded me from the bullets! If he had wished me dead, it would have been trivial for a man such as him to shoot me, stab me, or even break my neck had he wished to do so. No, he committed no crime."

"But how do you account for his voice, clearly identified, making that threat?"

"His voice, yes, perhaps, but he himself? No, surely not! Have you not seen the entertainments with mimics and the people with the wooden dummies on their laps, making them seem to talk? And where is his gun? You searched us, your men searched the platform, there was no gun. It seems to me that perhaps some criminal might have wished to attack many targets. Myself, the good Doctor Savage, the other people there who were after all the ones actually injured. And while everyone is aghast and fearful, the attacker simply leaves. He is like the magician on the stage, who convinces the audience to closely watch one thing while he pulls out the rabbit from his hat elsewhere. He is probably a very clever man."

"And," continued the physicist, "this sort of attack has been seen many times, in my own land. Evil men sow distrust in one quarter so that no one takes notice of them robbing someone in another quarter. Perhaps they want Americans to fear Doc Savage as Europeans are being taught to fear Jews. If you have more questions, ask them. I hope they are good ones. If not, I would very much like to go home."

As Einstein was being escorted out, he passed by the room where Doc was being interrogated by Detective Humboldt, its door open. "I always knew you'd snap someday, Savage, but this time you've gone way too far!" Humboldt thundered. He wasn't giving Doc the third degree – not quite. "What was it? Didn't like someone else getting the attention? Or did you just sniff the wrong stuff from your chemistry set? Well, we've got you this time, you can bet your fancy penthouse on that! Once the doctors are done with the Mayor and Whelan, you can kiss your phony police commission goodbye, and you'll face a rap for attempted homicide!"

As Humboldt stopped to take a deep breath, Einstein calmly interjected, "Ask him how he shoots several people without a gun. That is a very good trick!"

Humboldt looked up. "Him? It ain't nothin' for a slick customer like him to get rid of a piece! Maybe he stuffed it in LaGuardia's pocket! Or maybe he ate it, I don't know! Now g'wan, get outta here and go play with yer cosmic rays!17"

"I see you're wearing your brown shirt today," Einstein said mildly as he walked on with his escort.

"Somethin' wrong with yer eyes? My shirt is white!" yelled Humboldt, and slammed the door.

Doc cleared his face of a slight smile before Humboldt turned back to him and was once again impassive. "Shall we go over events again?" he asked.

"Yeah! And we're gonna keep going over 'em until you tell me why you tried to kill those people!" Humboldt snarled.

"I can't help you with that. I did not try to kill anyone. Are you planning to charge me now, or do you want to wait for the results of the investigation?"

"I think we'll just stash you in a holding cell – with a guard! – and see whether it ends up being 'material witness' or charges!"

At that point, the door swung open and the desk sergeant walked in. "Okay, Hardboiled. We got the word straight from the Commissioner – Savage is to be let loose."

"What! You gotta be kidding me!"

"I got it straight from the horse's mouth, Humboldt. Savage is free. If we need him, I'm sure we'll be able to find him," the sergeant said, with an inquiring look at Doc. Doc simply nodded.

"Has there been any report from the Fairgrounds?" he asked.

"The detective team is there, it'll take them some time. The cops there said they found where some people had been scuffling behind the platform. They're bringing in some stuff they found."

Doc was able to get the police to give him a ride back to the Fair. He said nothing on the trip, absorbed in his own thoughts. His driver let him know that the doctors had said that Whelan and the Mayor were not in danger. They had been treated and would simply be kept overnight for observation. Unspoken was the thought that having them under guard overnight would also make the police happier.

In their hiding place, the Doctor finally had a chance to check on Leela's condition. The truck had turned in behind the pavilion for the Netherlands, and the Doctor had wasted no time getting himself and his friend out of the truck and into a storeroom in the building, where they were hiding behind a stack of crates, the afternoon sun slanting in through a window and showing a sparkling array of dust motes. Leela was still unconscious, but was beginning to stir. Her pulse and breathing seemed to be normal, and there was no more bleeding from her wounds, which seemed uncharacteristically small for the weapon that had produced them. This observation inspired a thought, and the Doctor pulled the gun he had picked up from one of the capacious pockets of his coat. He examined the weapon carefully, and removed one of the rounds from the magazine. Looking over the ammunition, he went so far as to sniff it and even touched it to his tongue. A wide grin appeared on his face.

"Ah, Leela, you do have quite the luck, don't you? I imagine that if the Master knew he had tried to kill you with anesthetic bullets, he would be furious. He hates being made the fool, and this time, he did it to himself! These seem to be not completely different than those Janis Thorns you favor18. You'll probably be waking up soon.

"And now the question is," he mused to himself, "Why is the Master here at all? Given that he intends to make trouble, it would be easier to deal with him if I knew the details of his plan. He has an embarrassing range of targets here. World leaders, politicians, scientists, masses of people, a huge city, and an unstable world situation. You couldn't throw a Sontaran here without creating a major incident." With that, he pulled a small, crumpled, slightly stained white paper bag out of one of his pockets and helped himself to a Jelly Baby.

Monk and Ham made their way to the speaker's platform in front of the Palestine Pavilion. By that point, there was little that they could contribute. The official detective team was in the middle of their search. The area had been photographed wherever it appeared that something had happened. A large amount of material had been picked up and bagged for examination. It was almost certain to be normal trash left by visitors to the Fair, but there were several empty cartridges from the supermachine pistol.

Reunited, the Five brought each other up to date. Ham was distraught when informed that Doc had been taken away by the police for interrogation. "I've got to get there immediately! Doc will need a lawyer! Are they planning on actually charging him?"

"Johnny has gone back to HQ in case Doc or the police call," said Renny soothingly. "If anything happens, he'll notify us. I sent Pat to sit in the car and monitor the radio in case Johnny calls with any news." All of Doc's cars were equipped with powerful two-way short wave radios.

He looked around, then dropped his voice and took a small wadded-up piece of newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to Monk. "Long Tom found this. Looks like a dart, but it ain't metal. Seems like wood or something. I picked it up with this scrap of newspaper I found - I think there's some stuff on the dart, you ought to check it out. I'd be careful. There was another one, the cops have it."

"You seem to have quite a knack for finding enough clues to share with everyone," Ham remarked.

At this point, Pat rejoined them. "I've just heard from Johnny. The police have released Doc. He's on his way back here. Johnny also says that the papers all have extras on the street now, and they're really going to town on the idea that Doc has gone berserk. There's probably worse to come, too – Johnny reminded me that Walter Winchell's weekly nationwide broadcast is this evening."

At this, Ham groaned. "I'd better return to HQ right away and get on the phone to the papers and to Winchell, and see what I can find out from the police. Hopefully their releasing Doc means that he has been exonerated. Meantime, this escapee from the 'Nature's Mistakes' exhibit can tell you how he let his Assassins get away."

"Yeah, fat lot of use you were, clotheshorse!"

Ham didn't even bother replying – he was off at a run, anxious to get back to their base where he could try to deal with the newspapers and radio commentators. While the rest waited for Doc's return, Monk told the others about spotting the strange man carrying the girl, his odd appearance, and his escape in the rear of the delivery truck.

"You don't suppose it was a trick, do you?" asked Long Tom. They were all sitting on the steps of the speaker's platform. The weather had turned hot and sultry, with an occasional grumble of thunder, and the steps were in the shade. "Maybe this guy just tossed that scarf into the back of the truck as a decoy?"

With that possibility, Monk groaned. "I never thought'a that! Do me a favor an' don't mention that to Ham!"

Renny inquired, "How sure are you that he's the one shot up this place?"

"If he wasn't, I'd like t' know who did it!" Monk retorted indignantly. "He was in the right place at the right time, and he was holdin' one of our superfirers. What I wanna know is, is this bird the Skulldriller Killer, or do we have two maniacs on th' loose? Either way, where did he get one of our guns?"

"I wonder who the woman was he was carrying," mused Pat. "Was she a captive? An accomplice? Was she hurt or dead?"

"If she was dead, why would he risk getting caught to lug her away? Unless she could be identified or something?" speculated Renny. "Anyway, they could be halfway to the Bronx by now. And we still don't know for sure if all of this is connected." The team of police detectives were wrapping up their investigation and preparing to leave.

Two people came strolling over toward the small group. One was a young woman in a light tan dress. She had dark, nearly black hair and blue eyes, and carried a large bag on her arm. She held a Speed Graphic camera, favorite of journalists. With her was a tall, burly man of about 35 with dark brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a light gray linen suit and a fedora. He had frown lines wearing paths into his face.

Walking up, the man addressed Renny. "Col. Renwick, isn't it? My name's Merten, Biff Merten. This is my friend, Diane Johnston. She's a reporter. We were here for the excitement earlier..."

"Hit the road, buster, and take this newshen with you!" interrupted Renny, his face darkening and his huge fists knotting up. "We aren't giving interviews!"

"BEFORE you go jumping to conclusions," interposed Diane loudly, "We're here because we heard that Doc Savage's men – and the Police! – were interested in any photographs that were taken during the incident."

She smiled at the group. "Well, I was here, and I got several pictures. Biff is a New Yorker from way back, and he certainly knows the reputation of the Man of Bronze. Both of us have been around enough to know that first appearances can be very deceiving. So we thought we ought to see just what's on these shots."

"We were on our way to get these developed and then hand 'em over to the cops, when I saw your little tea party here," rasped Merten. "So I figured we'd offer 'em to your crew first. Unless you still wanna make an issue of her being the Press?" he asked, almost hopefully, looking the big engineer straight in the eyes.

Monk, always interested in pretty girls, spoke up. "C'mon, Renny. Let's see what's on the film."

"Yes," added Pat. "Might not be a bad idea to have some friends in the press right about now."

"Sure! If we need any character references from the fashion columns or the society pages!" Renny said hotly.

Before Biff could react, Diane somehow managed to put herself nose to nose with Renny. "I'll have you know, Colonel Renwick, that I cover the crime beat for the Washington Post, and have been doing that for over five years," she bit the words off icily. Then, directed at Pat, "Is he always this patronizing?"

"Not usually. Cool off, Renny – I think they just want to help. Please forgive us. We're all a little off-balance. You know the police took Doc in for questioning, and we were afraid they would charge him with attempted murder."

"Only an idiot who hasn't been paying attention would fall for a boneheaded notion like that!" Biff replied. "Which sounds about right for the cops around here."

"Speaking of Doc, it looks like he's back," chipped in Long Tom.

Doc came striding over to the group, apparently none the worse for wear. "Hello, Renny, Tom, Pat, Monk," he said, looking around. "What have you found? And who are our friends here?"

"These are Diane Johnston and Biff Merten, Doc," said Long Tom. "Diane was taking photos of the dedication and heard that we were interested in any pictures people took, so they came over. Ham has gone back to base to try and head off the more lurid papers and see what he can do about Winchell's broadcast this evening."

At the mention of Walter Winchell, Doc's face grew grim. Winchell had a huge audience all over the country, and was not always averse to indulging in gossip and muckraking. He had ruined the reputations and careers of many well-known people ranging to entertainers, politicians, businessmen, and any sort of prominent personalities. He could be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy, depending on what tack he chose to follow. If he took the line that Doc had gone berserk, it could seriously hamper Doc's work.

"Long Tom and Pat found some kinda darts. The cops have one, Monk has the other," added Renny. "The cops are about done here. Monk and Ham spotted someone who was in back during the fun and games, and went chasing him."

"Yeah, Ham and I chased this bird all the way to th' British Pavilion," Monk said glumly. He was eager to spin his yarn about chasing an escaping assassin, in hopes of impressing the attractive newsgirl, but was also afraid to speak too openly in front of a reporter who seemed to be trying to memorize their every word. "He ended up jumpin' in the back of a truck and got away."

At this, Doc suggested, "Why don't we all adjourn to our headquarters? We can develop Miss Johnston's pictures there, so that she can have her camera back, and we can finish catching up on the way."

This seemed like a good idea, so they made their way to Doc's car, another of his small fleet of vehicles. Doc's eyes narrowed when they approached the car, and he saw that it was unlocked. He had locked it when he parked. This explained how the assailant had acquired one of the supermachine pistols. Doc made a quick check, and sure enough, a gun was missing from the car, along with two drums of ammunition. It was a tight fit, but they managed, with Doc and Renny in the front, Monk, Diane, and Long Tom in the back, and Biff and Pat in the rumble seat.

VI. The Connection

In the storeroom in the Netherlands Pavilion, the Doctor's thoughts were interrupted when Leela regained consciousness.

"Ughhmm... Doctor? What happened?"

"You tried to tackle the Master singlehandedly. Points for enthusiasm, but several penalties for faulty implementation. We were mistaken for would-be assassins, and you seem to have gotten a taste of your own medicine. I believe you were struck down by something not unlike one of your own Janis Thorns. I thought I ought to look after you instead of debating the issue. And the TARDIS seems to have gone walkies. I wonder if I should have paid more attention to the old girl when she objected to landing here?"

"That's strange. It's not like the Master to avoid killing an enemy."

"Well, I suspect that was an oversight on his part." The Doctor pulled out the supermachine pistol, removed the drum, and showed Leela the mercy bullets. "He apparently didn't realize what it was loaded with."

"If I have any say in it, that will be the last mistake he makes!" Leela proclaimed, the old fury in her eyes.

The Doctor's grin returned in full force at this evidence that his companion was once again her normal self. "Now that you're done with your nap, let's go for a stroll and see what we can learn."

In a darkened compartment within the TARDIS, a small red light came on. Earlier, the Master and the Mistress had left him 'to watch over things' and departed. Not long after that, there were minor shakings and upheavals as though the TARDIS was moving, but there was no sound from the engines. Perhaps he should investigate?

In a storage room in the British Pavilion, Cecil Pickthall, the pavilion's Commissioner General, stood looking at the tall blue box. "Who the devil decided to pack along a Call Box as part of the exhibit? And where's the key, so we can open the bloody door?"

"I have no idea," sniffed his assistant. "It wasn't included on any of the packing lists. Whoever it was just left it sitting outside. Perhaps because it's so shabby looking? It certainly doesn't look a fit representation of the World of Tomorrow! Do you want us to scrap it?"

"Not until I find out where the bloody thing came from." said the commissioner general, as they walked out. A second later, the door to the Call Box opened, swinging inwards, and a small – object – emerged.

It was about the size of a large breadbox, made of a gray metal, roughly trapezoidal in shape, with a small display screen on its left side, a brief control panel on top, and the designation 'K-9' on the right side. There was an odd elevated protuberance, somewhat suggestive of a dog's head, on one end and a tail-like antenna at the other. The head had a softly glowing red panel where the eyes should be, and two small oval-shaped dishes in place of ears, swiveling back and forth. It moved out of the TARDIS, apparently on small wheels concealed underneath its chassis. Another antenna extended from the base of the eye plate, and the TARDIS door closed; this front antenna then retracted. In a clipped, precise, high-pitched voice – a fussy voice – it said "I will reconnoiter the area and locate the Mistress." There was no one around to see it as it rolled away.

Biff Merten and Diane Johnston relaxed in the reception area of Doc's headquarters. Ham had emerged from the communications room only long enough to see who had arrived, then went back to his urgent telephoning. Monk was in the lab, looking over the dart they had retrieved. Doc was in the darkroom, developing Diane's film. Pat, Renny, and Long Tom sat with Diane and Biff. Johnny had provided sandwiches and coffee, so the group sat and discussed recent events. Diane had spent the trip from the Fair listening intently, asking a few questions, and trying to avoid the attentions of Monk. She was hoping against hope for a chance at an interview with Doc himself. Biff had had an interesting conversation with Pat. She seemed almost envious of Diane's eventful career.

"So, Mr. Merten, I understand you used to live in New York," ventured Renny. "I hope there's no hard feelings about earlier?"

"Nah, you're jake," said Biff. "Yeah, I used to be a cop in this burg, on the Homicide Squad. Never been the diplomatic type, and stepped on a few toes. Got myself railroaded on some trumped-up internal affairs applesauce, and ended up takin' the fall. Decided to move on, and ended up in DC as a private dick. Met up with a few interesting characters, and we've been in a couple or three narrow scrapes. One of our pals, a mad scientist by name of Janos Bartok, talked us into comin' up here for the Fair. He heard about the run-in you guys had at the Fair from his friend Tesla, so he had to see what the hubbub was about. Diane convinced her editor to let her add to his coverage of the Fair, and our pal Leroy – he works for Senator Albertson from Wyoming – is here to run errands while the Senator is chatting up all the foreign bigwigs."

At the mention of Janos Bartok and Tesla, Long Tom spoke up. "Say! I was working with Tesla on the clean-up at the Perisphere! I think I heard him mention Bartok." Tom's expression seemed somewhat doubtful. He did not mention what he had heard Tesla say about his fellow Hungarian.

"Let's see if I have this straight," said Diane. "You were looking into this 'Skulldriller Killer' that's been in the papers, someone laid a trap for you in front of your building here, and then at the Fair, either Doc tried to kill Einstein, or someone tried to make it look that way. A weird scarecrow of a man went running away with a woman on his shoulder, and got away. And the papers are all busy asking if Doc has stripped his gears."

"That's about it," said Pat. "And Winchell will be going on the air in an hour or two, and we're not sure which way he'll jump. Ham is trying to convince him to wait for the official police report, but you know Winchell – that could as easily set him off as talk him down."

"Have you called the police to see if they have any results they can announce yet?" asked Diane.

"No. We need to do that. Maybe there's some information we can use."

At that point, Monk emerged from the lab. "Well, that dart sure was some kinda plant, but it ain't nothing I've ever seen before. An' it looks like that oily stuff on it was produced by whatever plant it was. It wasn't dipped in it or painted on. It reminds me of a nastier version of the stuff we use in our mercy bullets." He placed the dart, again on its scrap of newspaper, on the table.

They were joined by Doc, who had Diane's camera, and a set of photographs, still damp from being processed.

"I'd like to compliment you on your photography, Miss Johnston," he said. "These are nice and clear. There's a lot to study here, but there are two or three shots of particular interest. First, this picture of the speaker's rostrum clearly shows the canvas backdrop being whipped forward, almost certainly due to bullets passing through it from behind."

"Second, this shot includes the lawn behind the stand, just at the edge of the frame. Fortunately, you were far enough to the side to catch that in your shots. It shows the young woman Monk described and a tall man all dressed in black. The third shot shows a man who is probably Monk's would-be assassin, holding the young woman, and with one of our pistols in his hand."

He passed the pictures around to the group. "Those prints are for you, Miss Johnston. I printed another set for our own use. I would also appreciate it if you leave the negatives with us for the time being. Of course, we will be glad to return them to you once this business is done with."

Diane was hesitant. "It would be a lot easier to get these into the paper if I had the negatives. Tell you what – you can keep them – for now – if I can have an exclusive ten minute interview with you. Purely to put out a follow-up story with the latest details about what really went on," she added.

Doc was starting to refuse her request for an interview, when Diane hastily added, "and I'll call Winchell. He and I met a time or two when he was muckraking in Congress. If I can give him some of the dope we just turned up here, I bet I can convince him that he can steal a scoop on the tabloids that are painting you as some berserk lunatic."

"If you can do that, I'll let you have twenty minutes," said Doc.

Diane got up to get on the phone to Winchell. "The sooner I talk to him, the easier it'll be to convince him to scrap what he's got and start over, if he has more time to work on it." Ham and Monk both vied to escort her to the communications room.

"Hey! I seen this guy!" exclaimed Biff.

"Which guy?" asked Renny.

"This clown with the scarf! And her, too! I seen 'em as we was drivin' out of the Fairgrounds, over near that Contemporary Arts building! They were just strolling along, pretty as you please!"

"How did you spot them?" asked Renny.

"One, I was in the rumble seat, so I had a good look around, and Two, I make a habit of noticing things. Goes with the job."

Doc noticed the dart laying on the table. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted the scrap of newspaper to deposit the dart on the table, then picked up the paper and examine it closely. There were some handwritten marks on it – lines, arcs, and circles.

"Renny?" he asked. "You said you found this paper laying behind the speaker's platform?"

"Yeah," came the reply, with a note of curiosity. "What about it?"

"It's a scrap from a New York paper from the summer of 1935. It's part of an article reporting our encounter with The Comet Gang."

"Ok, so why is that significant?" asked Long Tom.

"Because I saw another fragment of this same page – I believe the tears will match perfectly. It was in the pocket of the Skulldriller Killer's second victim."

VII. The Meeting

Ensconced in his TARDIS, which was still disguised as a nondescript shed in a parking lot behind a bar and an apartment building somewhere in a rundown area of Astoria near Ditmars Steinway and the East River, the Master was in the midst of contemplation. The Doctor was here, along with another of his pets. It seemed obvious in retrospect that the Doctor had set up Savage as a catspaw. How else could Savage have managed to interfere with his plan? But what exactly was the configuration of the current chessboard? Savage seemed to entertain the notion that the Doctor was responsible for the deaths of those insignificant animals taking up space in the police morgues. Was Savage actually in the dark? Could the Doctor be manipulating Savage indirectly, as the Master himself often ran his schemes? If the Doctor was now borrowing the Master's tactics, that would be a noteworthy change in the nature of their conflict, but it did seem rather out of character with his estimation of the Doctor's personality.

On the other hand, if Savage was being run openly by the Doctor, then Savage was putting on a performance. If it was intended for him, that would mean that the Master's eavesdropping had been detected, and he was being fed misinformation. Unless this maskirovka19 deception was intended for Savage's associates, or perhaps for his guests... This may be nothing more than the Doctor's attempt to preserve the natives' current ignorance of the true nature of the universe by keeping himself hidden and using Savage as a front man...

There was much to be considered. It was now clear to the Master that his planning had been sound, except that he had been a lap behind in this race. At each stage, the Doctor had had a hidden factor ready to place on the board to surprise the Master. He really must congratulate the Doctor when they came face to face – his grasp of strategy seemed to have improved markedly.

Perhaps he should do the Doctor the honor of taking a page from his book and adopt a different set of tactics? How would the Doctor react if the Master made a sudden, direct thrust and eliminated the Doctor's stalking horse?

Returning to his control room, he crossed to the large hexagonal console in the center of the room. With the soft hum of the vehicle's power systems making a counterpoint to his constant mental drumbeat, he studied several instruments, adjusted several dials, snapped two switches, and then dramatically threw a large lever.

The large, transparent central column extending up from the middle of the console began rising and falling, with its internal metal oddments and intricate patterns of small lights. The TARDIS engines began their odd, wheezing, whistling, thumping sound, but if they had sounded labored when he fought his way to a landing here a few days ago, they now sounded absolutely anguished. The entire vehicle shuddered and shook, and it was immediately obvious to the Master that this was not working. He quickly neutralized the engines before he burned out his dematerialization circuit.

His intent had been simple. He would materialize his TARDIS inside Doc Savage's headquarters and kill everyone there in a lightning raid. But something had completely blocked his TARDIS from that location! If the Master had entertained any doubts that Savage was an agent of the Doctor, this certainly dispelled them. The Doctor had set up Savage with TARDIS-proof defenses around his base of operations!20

So be it, he thought. We will do this by other, more painful means.

By this time, it was after 7 PM, and many people had left the Fair, but there were still substantial crowds enjoying the cooler temperatures and waiting for the evening's spectacular fireworks exhibit and light show. Since the Doctor had wanted to provide himself and Leela with the full experience of the Fair, he had taken the unusual – for him – step of laying in a supply of American currency valid for this time period, so he and Leela were able to stop at one of the food kiosks and get something to eat and drink. Leela had both a hot dog and a hamburger; the Doctor contented himself with one of the newly introduced whole-wheat doughnuts and one of the equally new cinnamon sugar doughnuts. They settled for ginger ale, the heat of the day and the huge turnout causing the vendors to run out of Coca-Cola by noon.

As they had strolled past the British Pavilion on their way down toward the Theme Center, the Doctor had ducked in briefly to see if he could replenish his stock of Jelly Babies. "Where on Earth you been, mate?" goggled the vendor. "They hain't been 'Jelly Babies' since 1918! They wuz renamed Peace Babies on account o' the end o' the Great War!" He handed a small sack to the Doctor.

The Doctor absently replied, "Oh, nowhere on Earth!", then scowled for a moment and grinned again. "Yes, of course! They aren't due to become 'Jelly Babies' again until 1953!"

"You mental, Guv'nor?" the seller had called out as the Doctor walked away.

"Doctor, you are impossible!" Leela protested, to which the Doctor simply grinned more broadly.

"No," he contradicted, "Merely highly unlikely. Jelly Baby?"

From there, they had made their way past the Lagoon of Nations, down Constitution Mall, past the Trylon and Perisphere, and into the blue-tinted Production and Distribution zone. The Doctor commented on many of the cultural and architectural wonders as they walked past. Eventually, they ended up at Perylon Hall, a special creation of Whelan's for receptions for the elite, where they made their way through lush carpets and art deco surroundings, past copper-clad walls, up to the circular rooftop lounge before they were challenged.

An attendant, in the blue-and-orange uniform of the Fair, sailed ominously in their direction, a frown on his face. "I'm afraid staff from the Amusements are not permitted here! This is a private club!"

"Oh, then that's all right," replied the Doctor. "I'm certain I must outrank a Private. I'm the Doctor, and this is my assistant. Though clubs are not really her forte, except in emergencies – she much prefers knives. Have you a selection of newspapers?"

With that, they settled themselves at a table with a fine view out over the Fair. Gathering up a selection of newspapers, the attendant was approached by the majordomo. "Who are those dreadful people? And why have they not been removed? They're certainly not members!"

"I believe he's some sort of surgeon, with the British delegation, and she is his nurse," he replied. The majordomo looked at the pair again. "Odd people, the British," was his comment.

The Doctor spent a little while quickly browsing through the papers, taking note of a few articles about the Skulldriller Killer, who he quickly realized must be the Master, and reading more carefully a late extra detailing the afternoon's violence at the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion. The article mostly presented the facts, but left a strong impression that somehow Doc Savage had succumbed to a fit of madness. There was also an opinion piece speculating on how dangerous Doc could be if he had lost his senses.

"It's clear that the Master has been here for several days at least, Leela." She had been looking at the papers as the Doctor finished with each one, more to stave off boredom than for any other reason. "The two murders the papers mentioned were probably just people who happened to get in his way, so he used a laser on them. He tends to be quite fond of lasers."

"But what is his goal?" Leela asked.

"I think his real plan was this afternoon's mayhem. He may be after Einstein, or Doc Savage, or possibly both. It may not actually matter. He loves to sow chaos and disrupt timelines. And in this place, at this time, he has what the Brigadier would call a target-rich environment. If we focus on protecting a specific target, he has dozens more within easy reach. We'll need to find him and deal with him so that he can't attack anyone."

Leela looked out the window, over the immense, sprawling Fair. "That won't be easy."

"Yes. And even if we succeed, we'll need to locate his TARDIS – and ours, too, don't forget. This would probably be a very bad place to leave one lying about."

"So we have tracking to do. That at least I can do. I can't help you find your TARDIS, but I can see if I can pick up a trail from the Master. I'll start from where we fought him, and meet you there in a few hours. You can see if you can find your blue box." With that, she left.

The Doctor stared out the window, pondering how he might be able to locate a missing TARDIS or two with the resources at his disposal. His gaze fell on the Westinghouse Electric exhibit nearby, with its tall central pillar surrounded by four hollow circles or flattened hoops, from a small one near the base, increasing in size to a much larger one at the top. They were vaguely suggestive of an electrical 'Jacob's Ladder'. Well, why not? thought the Doctor, and strolled across the Street of Wings to the Westinghouse building.

Bypassing the exhibits, which were still somewhat well attended, the Doctor wandered the building, looking for a workshop where the equipment on display could be maintained or repaired. He soon found one, with workbenches, tools, and various vintage instruments. The room was stacked nearly full of odd, unfamiliar equipment, much of which had a vaguely menacing appearance. The room was deserted, save for one man working at a bench in a corner, under a solitary lamp.

Approaching the bench, the Doctor announced his presence. "Pardon me, is that a multiphasic oscillator?"

"I see you know your way around electrical equipment," frowned the worker. "Yes, it is. May I help you?" He was of medium height, with short black hair and dark brown eyes.

"Perhaps. I have a technical problem I'm trying to solve. I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor of what? I'm Janos Bartok," the other asked, rising to his feet. "I have a few problems here myself. I'm trying to sort out and classify all of – this," he waved his hand around at the tall stacks of random equipment.

"Surely you should know what your exhibit has shipped in?" asked the Doctor.

"Oh, no no no," replied Bartok. "This isn't part of the Westinghouse exhibit. This is some of the equipment that some lunatic had secretly installed inside the Perisphere. Apparently, he had intended to create mayhem on a very large scale.21"

Another of the Master's schemes? wondered the Doctor silently.

Bartok continued, "They called in Nikola Tesla to remove it and deal with it. Tesla's patron is George Westinghouse, so the material was stored here as the best place to look it over. I'm a friend of Tesla's, and this sort of thing is somewhat up my alley, so I'm here lending a hand. Everyone else has gone home for the day. Very little of this equipment follows any sort of standard, though, so I'm having to derive each piece's function from first principles. It's a slow job."

The Doctor glanced at the unit Bartok was holding in his hand. "Well, that's a phase inverter, the bit over there is a phase-locked loop, and the fiddly little thing on the end is a time crystal22," he announced, with a broad display of teeth.

"Ah, time!" sighed Bartok. "Time doth make fools of us all." Frowning at the Doctor, he narrowed his eyes and asked, "And what exactly was this technical problem you're trying to solve?"

Up on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, Diane was busy on the phone.

"Walter! It's Diane Johnston! You remember me – about three years ago, you were in Washington, getting material for that piece about Senator Falston and his under-the-table deals? I handed you a tip or two? pause Yes, I know what time it is. You're on the air in a little over an hour and you're very busy. pause Well, I just thought you might be interested in not leading with your chin and getting caught with your pants down around your ankles. pause Oh, you're listening! OK, get this – the New York cops have information that shows Savage didn't go nuts and try to kill Einstein. pause I'm in New York, silly! I was there when it happened! Take a minute and call the precinct there in Queens near the Fair! Right now the cops' own investigation shows that the shots were fired from behind the stand while Savage was up on the platform! Einstein himself insisted on going in with Savage to make a statement of his own! pause Yeah, I know everyone heard Savage yelling 'Death to Einstein!' Ever take in a vaudeville show with ventriloquists and mimics? pause Check with the cops. Or look like a fool along with everyone who jumped the gun on this one. And I can tell you right now that in about twenty minutes the police will have photographs from the scene that show the gunmen behind the speaker's platform. pause Yes, you heard me. I'm giving you a chance to scoop everyone who rushed out an extra. You'll get it on the air now, and that'll support my extra. You have the speed, and I have the pictures. We'll double-team everybody who jumped the gun. Now get your writers, you don't have a lot of time!"

While she was talking, the rest were winding up into a frenzy of activity. Monk, Ham, Doc, and Pat were returning to the Fairgrounds. Johnny and Long Tom were on their way to the police station to check the scrap of newspaper against the piece found on the Skulldriller Killer's victim. Renny would stay at headquarters to take the first shift at coordinating communications and reviewing what they had learned so far. Tomorrow, Renny and Long Tom would resume the work of improving the Fair's electrical systems and keep their eyes and ears open for anything relating to the case, and Johnny would take over communications duty. The rest of the team would begin a thorough search for the two mysterious men and the woman with them.

After finishing up with Winchell, Diane made a quick call to the head of the Post's local bureau. She gave him a brief summary of what she had found out and asked him to alert the Editor-in-Chief. She said she'd be in soon to do the full story.

"Thanks for everything," Merten told Pat as Diane returned to the reception room. "We gotta get going, too. We need to run those pictures down to the cops pronto, and they'll want to bend our ears for a while, I'm sure. And I gotta date with a poker game at my pal Archie's over on West 35th." With that, the two left.

At the World's Fair, two men were sitting on a bench along Constitution Mall in the purple-toned Food Zone. "Well, there's something you don't see every day, Edgar," said the first.

"What's that, Chauncey?" asked the other.

"A tin dog taking himself for a walk," came the reply.

"Oh, I don't know. Who else could he take for a walk?"

Leela had retraced her steps back to the speaker's platform, which would be removed overnight. Examining the area behind it in the early evening light, she located the area of the scuffle and found a likely trail, despite the trampling the area had received from the police investigation. It led underneath the platform, and from there, it emerged and headed west-southwest along Constitution Mall toward the main entrance at the Corona Gate. Fortunately, his shoes were of a rather unique style compared to everyone else. Also fortunately, the Master mostly stuck to the grassy areas alongside the pavement. He may have wanted to avoid rubbing shoulders with the crowd, or perhaps he simply enjoyed disobeying the 'Keep Off The Grass' signs. As a result, Leela was able to track him almost the entire way to the gate. She felt confident that he had left the Fairgrounds. Since there would be virtually no possibility of tracking him through city traffic, she returned to the speaker's platform to await the Doctor.

Although much of the crowd had left the Fairgrounds following the heat of the day and the frightening gunfire at the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion, there were still a substantial number of visitors enjoying the cooler temperatures and waiting for the evening's massive fireworks display and the light show at the Trylon and Perisphere. Many folks, tired of standing in line for hours for the General Motors' 'Futurama' display ride, were still in the Westinghouse Exhibit, marveling at "Elektro, the Moto-Man", an eight foot tall bronze-colored "robot" that could walk, talk, count, and do other simple tricks. In reality, it was a crude publicity gimmick run remotely by an operator.

Some of those watching Elektro go through his paces, conversing and being directed by his pretty girl 'handler', were briefly distracted by the small metal dog entering into the room. K-9 rolled up near the stage, stopped, swiveled its 'ears' around, and then announced, in its precise voice, "Analysis. A simple automaton. Not a Cyberman. Laser deployment not warranted. Readings indicate Master is nearby."

A Westinghouse engineer, attending the exhibit, witnessed this and turned to his co-worker. "Hey! Did you see that? Must be from GE, trying to steal our thunder! We need to add our own robot dog!"

"We could give Elektro a pet, maybe call him 'Sparko'?"23 came the reply.

The storeroom cum workshop in the Westinghouse exhibit was busy; the Doctor and Bartok had made steady progress on constructing a most unlikely looking contraption, about the size of a press camera, but far uglier. As they worked, the Doctor sounded out Bartok regarding the day's excitement.

"There seems to be no end of speculation regarding the motive for the shooting," commented Bartok. "Most people believe that it was intended to kill Einstein. A lot of folks think Savage has gone crazy, others think someone was trying to frame Savage. I suspect this event was engineered by the murderer the newspapers are calling the 'Skulldriller Killer'. Doc must be getting close to him."

"Skulldriller Killer? Oh dear me, that sounds most unfriendly!" The Doctor fastened a few connections with his Sonic Screwdriver, the device he had used earlier to jam the Master's weapon.

"A few corpses have turned up around the city. They were apparently killed by having a very narrow hole burned completely through their heads."

Definitely the Master's work, thought the Doctor. Aloud, he asked, "So this Doc Savage is pursuing the killer? Who exactly is Doc Savage?"

Frowning, Bartok answered, "I would have thought that they've heard of Doc Savage even in England," drawing the wrong conclusion from the Doctor's accent. "You've heard the story – father a brilliant scientist, decided to turn his son into an experiment, took him as an infant and with a cadre of other scientists, raised him in a merciless regime of training and exercises to push him to his limits and beyond. Apparently rich as Croesus, devoted his life to helping people and fighting crime, won't kill, enlisted five assistants during the War, no sense of humor, the usual story. Or are you thinking of some other Doc Savage? You said you were at the dedication today, you'd have seen Doc Savage there, he introduced Einstein. About the only time he didn't come out a winner was around four or five years ago, when he and his crew went up against the Comet Gang. He put a stop to them, but he never got his hands on that inertialess drive they were using. No hardware, no plans, no inventor, nothing. That had him mightily upset for quite a while."

"An inertialess drive? Really? And it seems to have vanished without a trace? How interesting!"

"I would think it would have made the news even on the other side of the Atlantic," said Bartok. "They raised enough holy hell over here! Anyway, last winter, there were a number of bizarre crimes committed. Rumor had it that Doc Savage has a secret place somewhere that he uses to keep dangerous technology locked up. People speculated that someone found it and raided it. Maybe this 'Skulldriller Killer' weapon is one of those."

That certainly explains things. The Master was clearly behind the Comet Gang, and Doc Savage seems to have stumbled into his way, thought the Doctor. "You know, I think this is about complete. I should go and give it a test run," he told the scientist. "And I believe I really should have a chat with Doc Savage."

"You can't miss him. He's about the size of Elektro, and nearly the same color. The biggest difference is Elektro occasionally smokes a cigarette. So tell me, exactly what is an Artron Detector?24"

"What's an Elektro?" countered the Doctor.

"It's part of the Westinghouse exhibit here. It's supposed to be a robot, but it's nothing more than an oversized toy, a publicity gimmick. Let me show you – they'll soon be closing the exhibit for the evening."

They left, the Doctor carrying the improvised Artron detector that should (he hoped) locate his TARDIS – and the Master's as well. Entering the exhibit hall, they witnessed Elektro "singing" and demonstrating that he could count on his fingers. In the dim lighting in the room, Bartok, watching the demonstration, did not notice the small metal object approaching them.

"Master," stated K-9. Bartok jumped in surprise.

"K-9! Good dog!" beamed the Doctor. "Have you seen Leela? And can you find the TARDIS?"

"Mistress is not in the immediate area. Preparing a search pattern. TARDIS is in storeroom at British Pavilion, thought to be part of the exhibit." was his reply.

"You're conducting a dialog! Is this internally generated, or is it operated remotely?" asked Bartok thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed as he studied K-9.

"Oh, K-9 is his own dog, Janos. And may I say you're taking this quite calmly."

"It's a very – odd – world, Doctor. Look me up if I can be of any assistance." And with that, Bartok returned to the workroom, where he immediately began diagramming as much as he could remember of the construction of the Artron detector.

"I was due to meet Leela some time ago at the speaker's platform, K-9. Let's go find her."

"Affirmative."

Elsewhere at the Fairgrounds, Doc, Monk, Ham, and Pat had arrived, and went first to the Fair Administration building, in the green-hued Business and Communications zone. Doc provided copies of the pictures showing the Doctor, Leela, and the Master, and asked the Fair administration to have duplicates made and distributed to all the Fair workers with a notice to keep their eyes open for these people, and if seen, to take no action other than to alert the administration to their location. The administration workers would then notify Doc's command post at his headquarters. The group then set out to return to the speaker's platform; they would start from there. Their route took them towards the Trylon and Perisphere at the Theme Center. Also approaching the Theme Center were the Doctor and K-9.

"How on Earth are we to locate any of these people, Doc?" Ham complained. "This Fair is immense! We're not even sure any of them are still on the Fairgrounds! They could be anywhere!"

"I agree, Ham, but all of the recent sightings have been here, and we have to start somewhere. And we now have all of the Fair personnel on the lookout, as well. What we really need is a way to take the initiative instead of simply reacting. We need to get out in front of them," replied Doc.

"Don't look now, Doc," said Pat amusedly, "but I believe we are out in front of at least one of them." She gestured at the tall figure with the impossibly long scarf walking toward them.

Monk and Ham froze, their eyes wide. Monk's face darkened, and his hands bunched up into fists. "Steady, Monk," said Doc from in front of the two. "Don't do anything precipitous. Let's see what he has to say." Doc had also noticed the small figure of K-9 trundling along beside the Doctor, and was unsure about this new development.

"Doctor Savage, I presume?" asked the Doctor, his grin present in full force. "I believe we have things to discuss."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," said Doc. "You are...?"

"Oh, I'm the Doctor. I'm a bit late to rejoin my colleague Leela. Would you mind walking with me? We can talk along the way."

"Allow me to introduce my associates Monk and Ham, and my cousin Pat. May I ask what your part is in this affair?"

"Hey! What in tarnation is that thing?" yelled Monk, as K-9 moved up beside the Doctor.

"Oh, that's my dog," explained the Doctor. Then, to Doc, "I understand you've been having a bit of trouble. I believe I know the person you're looking for. Come along, K-9," as they set off, heading up Constitution Mall. "Would anyone like a Jelly Baby?" he asked, holding out his paper sack.

"Leela and I had come here simply to enjoy the Fair," he continued. "But when we arrived, we saw the unfortunate incident at the dedication."

"Saw it, or engineered it?" accused Monk, munching on a Jelly Baby. "I saw ya with that gun in your hand!"

"Be quiet, you Neanderthal!" interjected Ham. "But it is a reasonable question. Please tell us your side of the story."

"Well, we had just arrived today. I thought seeing the Fair would broaden Leela's horizons a bit – she's had something of a sheltered upbringing. Your attacker and I have had differences of opinion before. I'm afraid he makes it his business to stir up trouble whenever he gets the chance. We were quite surprised to encounter him here. Leela charged in – she tends to be most headstrong. If I'm not mistaken, she was responsible for spoiling the attack, and likely prevented someone from being seriously injured or killed." At this, Pat paid particular attention.

"Then it is your contention that this other person was in fact the shooter?" asked Ham.

"Of course. After she spoiled his aim, he shot her, and I disarmed him. I checked Leela's injuries and he took his leave from the scene. I picked up the gun because guns are nasty things, and I didn't want to leave it lying around. By the way, my congratulations on those anesthetic bullets." The Doctor drew his salvaged supermachine pistol, and handed it to Doc, grip first.

"You must understand, we have only your word for this. How can we be certain that it was not you who conducted the attack?" countered Ham, as they drew near to the speaker's platform in the deepening twilight. Work lights had been set up, and Fair workers were busily disassembling the rostrum.

As the group drew near, a slim shape silently emerged from the shadows and drifted over towards them. "Doctor?" Leela asked.

At the sight of the attractive young woman, who they had last seen injured, unconscious, and being carted off, Ham and Monk both rushed over to her side.

"Are you all right?" inquired Ham solicitously. "You wasn't hurt in that dust-up earlier?" asked Monk, taking Leela's hand. Unfortunately, at that same moment, the evening's spectacular display of fireworks erupted from Fountain Lake in the Amusement Zone, the Trylon and Perisphere were bathed in a fantastic array of shifting, colored lights, and the eerie sound of 'The Voice of the Perisphere' – caused by striking a tuned bell wire25 – rang out.

In addition to these breathtaking wonders, Monk was treated to his very own private display of fireworks, and his breath was taken away by Leela spinning and flipping him head over heels, slamming him to the hard surface of Constitution Mall. In just another second, Ham found himself stretched supine on the ground, clutching his midsection, where Leela's foot had caught him perfectly and knocked him back.

Behind the group, K-9 spoke up. "Attack underway! Must protect Master and Mistress!" It rolled forward, a small, stubby metal tube extending from its 'nose'. Several things happened nearly simultaneously. The Doctor dropped his Artron Detector and plunged a hand into one of the voluminous pockets of his coat. Pat rushed headlong at Leela, who had drawn a knife and was crouching by Ham, threatening his throat with her blade, as Monk painfully rolled to his knees. Doc leapt in between his aides and K-9. And K-9 fired a thin, intense red beam of light from the tube protruding out of its nose, aimed at Monk!

"K-9! Stand down immediately!" ordered the Doctor.

The beam struck Doc directly in his abdomen, just above his belt. There was a brief flash and a horrible, acrid burning smell, and flames began licking at Doc's clothes! Pat knocked the knife from Leela's hand, while Leela swept Pat's legs out from under her with her other arm, sending Pat down in a heap. Doc, oblivious to his injuries, caught up K-9 in his hands and tore off one of its side panels, reaching for the wiring inside. By that point, the Doctor had drawn his Sonic Screwdriver and shut down K-9 with it. As Doc tore a wiring harness loose, there was a bright flash and a crackling sound. Then Doc was flat on the ground, with a grimace of pain on his face. There were burns on his shirt and hands, and blood was trickling down his side. K-9 lay on the ground next to him.

"No, Leela! Stop!" shouted the Doctor, as Leela was about to spring at Pat. Several of the Fair workers ran over toward them, slowing to a halt as they tried to make sense of the scene before them. "Stay back!" the Doctor directed at these newcomers. "This has all been a horrible misunderstanding! LEELA! STOP! NOW!" as his companion had drawn another knife and was eyeing the workers angrily.

The Doctor was astounded to see Doc Savage get to his feet. By the Untempered Schism! he thought to himself, How is he standing? He took a full blast from K-9 at point-blank range! Doc had drawn one of his supermachine pistols; he held it at his side.

"If any of you move, I will fire," he announced loudly, to be heard over the continuing explosions of the fireworks. His eyes remained locked onto Leela. He ignored his bleeding wound and the small flames still licking at his shirt. "Pat, help Monk and Ham to their feet.

"'Doctor'," he continued, not moving his eyes, his tone making clear his skepticism regarding the title, "I believe you have several things to explain. We have been searching for someone who has committed multiple killings using a weapon that can focus a tremendous amount of energy into an extremely tight beam – a technology that you have just demonstrated. We have reason to believe that this person refers to himself as 'The Master' – a title which your device has just bestowed on you. I think it is quite reasonable for us to suspect you of being the Skulldriller Killer – or 'The Master', if you prefer."

Pat had now gotten Ham on his feet again, although he was still bent somewhat forward and the work lights showed his face with a distinct greenish color; his attention was focused on breathing. Pat was having some difficulty in getting Monk's considerable bulk fully upright again.

"Jeez," he mumbled, "Some gals just ain't satisfied with a simple 'No'. So much for bein' helpful!"

"Doctor?" inquired Leela, her eyes locked on Doc Savage, and her knife still at the ready.

"Put the knife away, Leela," directed the Doctor. "We need to make friends of these people. I'm sure they simply aren't accustomed to women with such highly tuned combat reflexes. And K-9 was misled by the fireworks."

The Doctor opened his mouth to continue. Whatever he was about to say was preempted as Doc Savage slowly crumpled to the ground. Instantly, the Doctor was kneeling by Doc's side. He put out the remaining flickering flames around the hole in Doc's shirt, and began examining him. Leela remained motionless, but her eyes missed nothing, and her knife was clearly at the ready.

While the Doctor was focused on Doc Savage, Pat ran over to them and scooped up the superfirer Doc had dropped. Monk and Ham were frantically trying to get their breath back and their wits about them, Ham leaning on his sword cane and watching Leela, and Monk limping over toward Doc.

"Now, let's see here..." muttered the Doctor. "Ah! That explains it! A lightweight mail shirt! That dispersed K-9's laser, but the metal was melted and driven into the wound. Probably not too serious, but very painful – not to mention the electrical burns on his hand. He needs treatment, and we need someplace to talk." He looked up at Pat.

Pat sighed. "I suppose the best thing to do is to bundle everyone back to Doc's headquarters. I hope I'm not making a horrible mistake! Please don't make me shoot you." Doc was only semi-conscious; his eyes seemed to give assent to Pat's decision.

Leaving the Fair workers (who were busy setting speed records for completing the teardown of the speaker's rostrum so they could go share their stories with reporters or at nearby bars, not necessarily in that order) the group made their way to Doc's car. Monk led, carrying K-9. The Doctor managed to get Doc Savage upright, and the Man of Bronze grimaced and leaned on the Doctor. Leela came along beside them, her knife sheathed, and carried the Artron Detector. Ham and Pat brought up the rear, Pat still carrying Doc's gun.

VIII. The Attack

The trip back to the Empire State Building, with Ham driving, was made in a very tense silence. Pat radioed Renny, asking him to ready their sick bay. Renny informed her that Johnny and Long Tom had returned, and that they had confirmed that the two scraps of newspaper were indeed a match. Switching the radio over to normal broadcast reception, they were just in time to catch Walter Winchell's trademark staccato introduction.

" .NorthandSouthAmericaandAllTheShipsatSea! Let'sGoToPress! FLASH! Attempted murder at the World's Fair! Man of Bronze, Einstein, Mayor LaGuardia, and Fair President Grover Whelan targeted by gunfire! At the dedication this afternoon of the Palestinian Pavilion, gunfire broke out following the remarks by Professor Einstein! Whelan and LaGuardia wounded and taken to hospital where their condition is good. Doc Savage and Einstein questioned by police! It has been reported that the crowd heard Doc Savage, the Man of Bronze and noted crime fighter, threaten to kill Einstein just before the shooting started! However, police confirm that Savage is not the shooter, as he was on the stage at the time, and the shots came from behind the stage. An enterprising photographer got pictures of three people behind the stage at that time! Police are currently on the lookout for these persons! It is speculated that this is the work of the so-called 'Skulldriller Killer', attempting to get Doc Savage off his back..."

Ham shut off the radio. "The police will sooner or later learn from those workers what happened and will want to ask us about these two," were his only comments.

At the team's base, Doc was half-carried into the sick bay. Renny took charge of Doc's treatment, with the Doctor providing advice. The ruins of Doc's shirt, his equipment vest, and his half-melted mail shirt lay in a heap in the corner. Doc, bare from the waist up, lay on an examining table, a strong light focused on him. Intravenous bottles fed saline and glucose solutions into him; blood and penicillin were ready if needed. The others, all seated around a spare examining table, watched the Doctor very carefully, ready on hair triggers should he make the slightest wrong move. There was a brief debate regarding Leela.

"She's gotta be locked up or handcuffed!" insisted Monk, rubbing the back of his sore head.

"For once, the Neanderthal and I are in complete agreement," nodded Ham, still looking slightly pale.

"I have given you – and the Doctor – my word of honor to behave as a guest – as long as you do not attack me," said Leela in a chilly voice, her eyes narrowed.

"Leela will behave, gentlemen," assured the Doctor. "Just please don't startle her. Leela, we must deal with Doc's injuries. Please divest yourself of your weapons. All of them. Consider our own early relationship."

Glowering furiously, Leela placed three knives, a small blowgun and a pouch of darts, and a set of brass knuckles on the table. Wordlessly, Pat, now sporting a black eye, gathered them up and locked them in a cabinet. The rest returned their attention to Renny and Doc.

The Doctor had provided a tube of gel and a few pills from his coat's pockets. "Once the bits of metal have been cleaned out of the wound, apply that gel to it and to his hands, and give him two of those pills." Monk took the gel and the pills, and with a glare at the Doctor, took them to his laboratory to analyze them.

The burn in Doc's abdomen had penetrated deeply. Without his mail shirt, it would have been far worse. Renny and the Doctor got everything cleaned out, and the bleeding stopped. They had just finished this when Monk returned, with a confused look on his face.

"Well, I sure as heck ain't certain what this stuff is, but it don't seem to be anything harmful. Think we should trust him?"

"You cretin! You've probably been letting that ridiculous pig of yours get into your chemicals again! Obviously we can't trust Doc to this ... person's care!" complained Ham.

Long Tom, who had been off to the side examining the still-inert K-9, looked up with apprehension and fear on his face. "I'd say No, not if we can help it! This stuff here ain't right! It just don't make sense!"

"I am far from sanguine regarding the veracity of what we've been told and the probability of these medicaments being efficacious," said Johnny dubiously.

Pat frowned. "From what I understand, you had a description of this 'Master' that sounds like the other guy who was there, not the Doctor. Yes, that – machine? – called him 'Master', but if it's a 'dog', that makes a crazy sort of sense. What it did to Doc looks like what the Skulldriller Killer used, but the Doctor and the Master seem to have a shared background, so them having the same weapons might be reasonable. The real question is, Can we trust him? It's obvious that we don't have the whole story, but the Doctor did help keep the fight from getting out of hand."

Doc opened his eyes, and through clenched teeth, whispered, "Trust him." Everyone looked at the Doctor, who simply shrugged. He waved Monk forward. Monk carefully applied the gel to Doc's wound and to his burned hand, and held a glass of water for Doc while he took two of the pills. Within minutes, Doc had relaxed and it was obvious that his pain had subsided. His wound was packed and dressed, and his hand was wrapped in gauze. He was soon asleep.

With that, Doc's aides turned as one to the Doctor and Leela, their anger and frustration plainly visible on their faces. "OK, start talking," demanded Monk.

"Let's move up to the conference room, so we don't disturb Doc," suggested Renny. "Monk, you stay here and keep an eye on Doc. You can listen in on the intercom, but keep it turned down."

They were soon seated around the conference table. "Gentlemen, it's as I said. Leela and I are travelers –" began the Doctor.

"From where?" interrupted Ham, treating the questioning as if it were a courtroom. "You have a variety of advanced and unusual equipment," he gestured at K-9. "Is it your own design? If not, where did you obtain it?"

"How on earth does it work?" demanded Long Tom, his eyes wide.

The Doctor looked directly at Ham, his face weary. "If I told you, the answer wouldn't really do you any good. From what you've seen, you have reason to be suspicious of us. You've seen strange, unfamiliar things that you can't explain. I could give you the answers you want, and try to convince you that we're trustworthy, but having those answers would be bad for you in the long run. Can you understand that knowledge in the wrong place at the wrong time can be very, very dangerous? Doesn't your Doc Savage claim the privilege – and the responsibility – of securing certain knowledge from the public to protect them? Do you imagine that he is the only one with such a duty?"

Ham now shifted tactics. "How can you prove that you are not in league with our adversary?" he asked, striking to the heart of the matter. "You admit to knowing him – who are you two, where are you from, and what is the relationship between you?"

"The Master and I were childhood friends," the Doctor sighed. "I wanted to travel, to see everything I could see, and to bear witness to all of the marvels there are. I had hoped he would share that idea. But as he grew, he became obsessed with dominating, with controlling everything he could. He loves to cause fear and discord. And I fear that he takes a special delight in attacking things that I care about. Any time I encounter him, I take it as an obligation to try and stop whatever mischief he has planned."

"I still think this is a load of malarkey!" broke in Long Tom. "If you aren't the Skulldriller Killer, what's that so-called 'dog' doing with the Killer's weapon?"

"K-9's equipment can be used as a weapon – to defend us, when he thinks there's a threat, but it's intended as a tool. It can weld or cut, for example. It often comes in handy on our travels."

"When he thinks!" Long Tom exploded. "Whattaya mean, 'thinks'? It's a machine!"

"Long Tom, restrain yourself, please!" directed Ham. Then, to the Doctor, "Still, my colleague raises a valid point. You have shown capabilities apparently unknown anywhere else. You seem to have much in common with a demonstrated criminal and enemy. It is we who are the injured parties here, not you. Surely we are due some explanation of your allegiances, mission, and motives!"

"Are you all fools?" Leela burst in vehemently. "Are you to spend all night debating what-ifs and maybes, and ignoring what you have seen the Doctor do? He returned your gun! He admired that you can shoot someone without killing them! He helped stop our combat! He has been helping to heal your chief! Have none of you ever been misjudged? When the Doctor and I first met, my tribe, the Sevateem, had been isolated and cut off from civilization. We were being exploited by the Tesh! I, too, took the Doctor for an enemy and I nearly killed him! Despite that, he helped us to free ourselves!26

"Can you not see that the Master is clearly the real threat here? And even if you persist in believing us to be your enemies, at least you have us here where you can watch us! We should be making plans to find the Master and deal with him!"

"The dubious efficacy of the Doctor's medications and their indeterminate provenance remains a fountainhead of apprehension at this time," interjected Johnny. "But while hardly a conclusive attestation, Miss Leela's summation certainly appears to be persuasive, and not without a certain admixture of logic."

At this, Ham frowned. Looking squarely at the Doctor, he asked, "There does seem to be something worthy of consideration there. If you can provide any information of use in locating and apprehending the Master, it would go some way toward establishing your bona fides."

"I had been working on just that thing before we encountered each other. I may be able to locate the Master's base of operations – if this improvised device does what it should," said the Doctor, gesturing at the Artron Detector. "Shall we give it a try?"

Ham ruminated on that for a minute. "Unless someone has an objection, I believe we can permit a demonstration, if it will help resolve our impasse. But we will certainly be watching for anything untoward."

With everyone alert but no one actually objecting, the Doctor set the Artron Detector on the table and switched it on. A low hum and a few soft beeps came from the device, and a few lights came on. There was no display screen as such, but the Doctor had improvised with something akin to a compass needle mounted on a flat spot on the device's top. The needle swung back and forth, slowly oscillating but not settling down.

The Doctor made a few adjustments to some of the detector's controls, and pressed a switch. The needle resumed its swinging, but after a minute, it had confined its searching to an arc facing generally eastward. That should be my TARDIS, thought the Doctor. Now let's filter that out and see if we can pick up the Master's TARDIS. With a few more adjustments, the needle was again swinging through an arc, this time pointing more east-northeast, but again refusing to settle on a specific heading.

"There we are," the Doctor announced to the group. "The Master's equipment uses a particular form of energy. This is a detector for it. It seems to be getting some interference, though; it should be giving a much more specific direction27, and of course we have no real idea of the distance, but we may be able to triangulate on it. Perhaps I could improve things with K-9's assistance."

"You want to put that thing back together?" goggled Long Tom.

"Why not? He's a very capable assistant!" replied the Doctor.

"I'll bet!" muttered Long Tom, under his breath.

"If I may offer a compromise," offered Ham. "It's late, it's been a very rough day, and we're tired. Let's stop for now and get some rest. We'll see how Doc is in the morning and make some decisions then. Doctor, I suppose we owe you some thanks for helping Doc, and for trying to locate the Master. I hope you'll understand if we continue to take certain precautions until we know more about all this. Folks, we'll take shifts watching Doc tonight."

"I'll relieve Monk in two hours," said Renny.

They were soon settled down for the night. Pat refused to leave and claimed one of the guest rooms. The Doctor and Leela were also shown to guest quarters, and their doors locked from the outside. Meanwhile, in the Communications Room, Renny and Long Tom were having a talk.

"I think we need to consider another side of this," said the big engineer.

"What's that?"

"Well, think about this. It looks like this mess is tied in with the Comet Gang. The Skulldriller Killer apparently had that article about the Comet Gang. It had those same funny marks on it as those disks we found on those mugs that attacked us the other day. They're the ones who first mentioned 'The Master'. The Killer started drilling holes in folks and attacking us before we had any inkling about him. Now, I never bought the notion that that guy 'Stunted' came up with those globe ships the Comets were flying. The only thing he seemed capable with was that bobtailed automatic rifle of his. But the kind of stuff we've seen from the Doctor and this Master character – yeah, I can see them having that drive in their back pockets. If the Master was behind the Comets, and we put paid to the Comets, then it makes sense the Master would be cheesed off at us and come after us."

"Look," replied Long Tom. "I know you're still beating yourself up about taking that shot that blew up the last of the Gang and took their secrets with them. You think you should have let Doc do the shooting. Doc really wanted to get a look at what made those things work – and so did I! Now you're thinking that we have a chance to maybe get that stuff, and all the good that Doc could do with it. Maybe you're right. Maybe these birds do have the dope on the Comet Gang ships and we can wring it out of them. But something about this is starting to scare me. After what we've seen, that robot dog, that red light weapon, this might be one we should think twice about before wading in. I got a feeling we might end up juggling nitroglycerine."

Renny glared angrily at this reminder of how his final shot at the hovering Comet Gang ship, which was preparing to drop a keg of nitro on them, ended with the gangster and his bomb falling inside the last of their ships and destroying it and all their hopes for capturing its secrets.

"Sorry," said Long Tom hastily, "Didn't mean to strike a nerve! There's a lot to think about. Let's get some sleep. You'll need it if you plan to relieve Monk in two hours. Maybe we can talk it over with Doc tomorrow."

Early next morning the Five, and Pat, gathered for breakfast. Doc was awake, and to everyone's amazement, was almost completely healed. Monk had thoughtfully filed the remaining gel and pills in the laboratory. As they were nearly finished, Doc entered the dining room. "Good morning, everyone. Monk, that was good thinking to start the recorder from the telephone robot and connect it to the sick bay intercom when you left to analyze the Doctor's medicine." Monk grinned and stuck his tongue out at Ham.

"Doc! Are you all right?" asked Ham, studiously ignoring Monk.

"I feel fine, although things are still a bit tender. I think I'll skip breakfast, but some coffee would be good," said Doc, adjusting a new mail undershirt and buttoning a clean shirt over it.

"Have you availed yourself of the recapitulation of our deliberations facilitated by Monk's felicitous decision to monitor the conversation? Have you arrived at any conclusions as to our most efficacious course of action?" inquired Johnny, speaking around the remains of a piece of toast.

"I believe so. How are our guests?" Doc asked, pulling on a new equipment vest and transferring various items from the ruined one he had carried in.

"Still secured in their rooms. You know he wants to fix that machine dog of his. Are we going to allow him to do that?" replied Long Tom.

"Doc!" interrupted Renny. "The Doctor and the Master may know the workings of the Comet Gang's ships!"

Doc's face fell under a dark cloud. "Yes, Renny, that has been apparent for some little while now. I wanted those secrets very, very badly. I still want them very badly. But it seems as though there is much more going on than we thought. I doubt the Doctor would supply us with that information – assuming he really does have it – simply because we asked. And it appears that trying to take the information from him if he's unwilling would be a very bad mistake. I believe he has the capability to be an extremely dangerous opponent, and that he adopts that amusing persona to put people at ease."

Doc took a sip of his coffee. "I think our first priority has got to be locating and restraining the Master. He seems to represent an immediate threat. Once that has been done, we can address other concerns. Although the Doctor's story is very incomplete, largely unsupported, and circumstantial, it isn't contradicted directly by anything that we know. I'm tempted to take him at his word – until and unless he does something contrary to what he's told us. It won't hurt to keep a cautious eye on him and on Leela. She's right that the things we're sure the Doctor has done have been helpful. I'm inclined to allow him to repair K-9. It may be helpful in tracking the Master. And," he admitted wryly, "I must confess to a great deal of curiosity regarding that 'dog'."

"So, Doc," asked Monk, still working on some ham and eggs, but clearly worried. "Once we catch this Master – what in heck are we gonna do with him?"

"Why, you cretin!" complained Ham, waving a piece of french toast on his fork. "We'll send him to Doc's 'Crime College', of course!28"

"While that is a possibility, it may be too dangerous to risk having the Master there. Have you noticed that the Doctor's energy detector appears to be improvised from the equipment Uppercue and Mandroff had installed in the Perisphere? If the Master is also that ingenious, I'm not sure I want him anywhere near any of our facilities," commented Doc. "Let's see if the Doctor has any ideas along those lines."

"Improvised? Or was the Doctor in league with them?" asked Renny, startled.

Long Tom looked at Monk with a worried expression. "Monk, was there anything in that medicine the Doctor supplied that would make Doc loopy? He seems pretty chummy toward someone that just ventilated him! Heck, we should probably be sending the Doctor and his girlfriend to the College!"

Monk rubbed the back of his head, still bruised from its encounter with Leela and then with the ground. "Tell ya what – you can bundle her up for the trip! No, I can't be any more sure about what exactly was in that stuff than you can be sure about what's going on in that tin dog."

"You ignoramus!" accused Ham. "I always suspected you were only playing chemist!"

"Knock it off, Ham!" yelled Renny. "None of us are in the mood right now. Doc, what's the plan for the day?"

"Let's get the Doctor and Leela down here and let them get breakfast and we'll talk about it. I'd like the Doctor to get his dog fixed and we'll see if we can start tracking down the Master. I'll ask him if he has any plans for dealing with the Master once we catch him. Pat, talk to Leela and see if you can find out what she knows about all this. She may be more amenable to questioning than the Doctor. Once we have things sorted out with them, I'd like Renny and Long Tom to return to the Fair and get to work on the power systems there, as was planned. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything odd. It's true the Master might be anywhere, but I suspect that the Fair is too attractive a target for him to abandon. Large crowds, politicians, businessmen and government leaders from around the world, an immense amount of attention and publicity – if he's looking to create mayhem, it's a very tempting place to start. Johnny can go along and circulate, keeping an eye on the government pavilions, since they are likely targets for the Master."

"Also, keep a low profile and watch out for police. I'm sure they'll be interested in speaking with us regarding our guests. Those Fair workers must have reported our fight last night, and the fact that those two left with us. It's very hard to mistake the Doctor for anyone else."

"Oh, yes," added Pat. There have been two calls from the police already this morning. I didn't answer – I let the robot take them."

"They'll probably be knocking on our door soon," predicted Renny gloomily.

Soon, the Doctor and Leela had joined them in the dining room. "Doc!" exclaimed the Doctor with a wide smile. "I'm delighted to see you up and around!" The Doctor settled in with a cup of tea and some toast with marmalade.

Leela and Pat seated themselves at a small side table, where Leela attacked a platter of ham and eggs, and seemed intrigued by the coffee. She and Pat soon had their heads bent in private conversation.

"Thank you for your assistance with my treatment, Doctor," said Doc. "Now let's see if we can get K-9 working again."

Doc Savage watched in startled silence as the Doctor set to work on K-9, making repairs with his Sonic Screwdriver. Long Tom provided wiring and connectors as needed. It was all he could do to refrain from asking the Doctor about the machine's power source.

"There – that should do it," said the Doctor, as he closed K-9's side panel. He switched the robot on, and it powered up, ears swiveling and eye panel glowing red. "Master," said K-9. "Current situation?"

"K-9! How nice to see you again! The situation at the Fair was a very unfortunate misunderstanding. These people are friends. You will not deploy your laser unless it is absolutely necessary to defend any of us – or any innocent bystanders – from imminent danger" instructed the Doctor.

"Affirmative," came K-9's reply. Doc's strange trilling noise was heard briefly at this exchange, and K-9's ears turned to focus on Doc.

"Pleased to meet you, K-9. I'm Doc Savage. These are Monk, Ham, Renny, Long Tom, Johnny, and Pat," said Doc, gesturing at the others in turn.

"Likewise. Identifications accepted and filed."

"Well, I must say, it does seem to be a rather more reasonable sort of pet than that hog of yours," commented Ham in a low voice to Monk.

"Sez you!" came the angry reply. "Habeas Corpus is a lot smarter than that pile of scrap – or your chump chimp!29"

"K-9, we need to try and refine this Artron Detector," said the Doctor.

K-9's ears swiveled to scan the device, and its head shifted slightly. "Construction of a crude and improvisational nature. Modification difficult but achievable."

"Let's adjourn to the electronics lab," suggested Doc.

"Well, if you're off to play with your toys, Leela and I will be off to the gym to work out the kinks from yesterday's exercise," said Pat.

The Doctor, Doc, and K-9 were soon at work on the detector, with Renny and Long Tom observing. Monk and Ham were cleaning up after breakfast, with Johnny refereeing as they acrimoniously discussed the merits of their pets.

As they worked, the Doctor asked Doc for a complete rundown of everything that had happened since the first 'Skulldriller' victim had turned up. The Doctor appeared to be ignoring Doc and focusing completely on K-9 and the detector, but his questions showed that was taking everything in. In about an hour, Doc had completed his story, and the modified detector was ready. This time, the device settled on a much narrower arc, but still provided no distance.

"Let's see. On that bearing, it looks like his base is East – Northeast of us, north of Astoria Boulevard and somewhere in the north end of Queens. Unless it's even further away, across the East River on Riker's Island or back in the Bronx," mused Doc, consulting his mental map of the city. "That's still quite a bit of city to search. Perhaps we should use my autogyro and conduct an aerial search around the city," he suggested. "It would be faster than driving, and it would aid in triangulating the Master's location. And it would help us avoid talking with the police until we have something more complete and conclusive to report."

"A fine idea!" said the Doctor. "Before we leave, though, I'd like to look at the papers and disks you recovered, with those strange marks on them."

The Master, enjoying the comforts of his TARDIS, paused in his contemplation. He had been consulting his data banks for information regarding Earth's history as of 1939, with particular attention to the New York World's Fair, and the various governments and leaders who were present. American President Franklin Roosevelt? The King and Queen of England? So many possibilities, he thought, savoring a multitude of visions. But save them for later. The Doctor wants to see the recovered items, does he? Well, let's give him a look at them that he will remember! Moving over to a side console, he adjusted several controls.

"Hmmm," frowned the Doctor, looking over the papers with their strange markings. They had returned to the Conference Room. "And you say that the gunmen who attacked you outside here were each carrying a small metal disk with similar markings?"

"Yes," replied Doc. "The police have several, and we kept some for examination." He fished one out of his equipment vest, where it had been since he had first acquired it, and handed it to the Doctor. The Doctor looked it over briefly, his eyes wide, and he set it down on the table. Renny, in turn, picked it up to examine.

"Doc," exclaimed the Doctor, "I'm afraid you've brought a spy into your midst! That's a listening device! The Master has undoubtedly been eavesdropping on everything you've said since you've had it!"

"This little thing?" scoffed Renny. "How? There's no room inside this for a battery or any gizmos! It's the size of a quarter!"

But his answer came from the device itself. "Goodbye, Doctor!" it said, in a deep sonorous voice, dripping with contempt. The Doctor quickly pointed his Sonic Screwdriver at the disk, still in Renny's hand, trying too late to neutralize the device.

The disk immediately exploded in a brilliant flash and a roar, and a louder blast came simultaneously from the lab!

IX. The Life-Flight

A wickedly satisfied smile crossed the Master's face as he sat in his TARDIS and considered his next move. This was hardly the elegant maneuver he would have preferred, but it did have the virtue of surprise, as well as a certain humor value. Besides, it would have been wasteful to pass up such a perfect opportunity. With any luck, this would be the end of that annoying Savage, and the Doctor might well be tied up for some time with a new regeneration. Perhaps he could indulge himself with some judicious attacks at the Fair?

Doc Savage and the Doctor were the first to regain their feet. The room was full of smoke, and flames were beginning to crackle. Renny lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his right hand badly mangled. More smoke billowed from down the hall, coming from the door to the laboratory, where another three of the disks had been stored. Apparently, all of the disks had exploded simultaneously. Though powerful, they were small. But they had ignited flammables in the lab and in the conference room.

Still disoriented from the blast's shock, and with blood trickling down his face from a forehead cut, Doc stumbled over to a wall panel, opened it, and pulled a handle to the right. Immediately, water began spraying from concealed jets in the ceiling30. Another concealed control should have activated powerful exhaust fans, but there was no response. "Power's out! I can't start the exhaust fans to get rid of the smoke!" called Doc.

The Doctor had rushed to Renny's side and was improvising pressure bandages from strips of Renny's shirt. "K-9!" he commanded, "Try and restore power to those fans, there's a good dog!"

"Affirmative," came the response, and K-9 rolled away, ears scanning.

Doc was now at the Doctor's side, and his face was a mask of grief as he surveyed Renny. He seemed to slump, as it appeared that there was little hope for the big engineer.

"Don't assume the worst – yet!" said the Doctor sharply. "Get the others on their feet so they can help deal with this! Find Leela and Pat! We can save Renny if we can get him back to the Fair quickly enough! Move, man!"

This galvanized Doc. He sprang up, and soon had Long Tom back on his feet. Monk, Ham, and Johnny emerged out of the kitchen, following the smoke and the crackle of the flames. Monk immediately ran for the lab. Ham began getting Long Tom over the effects of the smoke. Johnny, thunderstruck, limited himself to a simple "Holy Cow!" as he knelt beside Renny.

Doc's voice held a note of command. "Take over here! Get the fires under control! Get the smoke cleared out! Lock all the doors – there may be other attacks on the way! Keep a lookout as soon as things are under control! Start repairs when you can! The Doctor thinks we can save Renny, but we have to move! Follow me, Doctor!"

Doc hoisted Renny onto his shoulders. At that point, the power came back on and the exhaust fans started. Pat, in workout gear, came in, with Leela in a fireman's carry. "What happened?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"We got suckered!" coughed Long Tom. "Those disks that we got from the crooks that attacked us here – The Master was using them to spy on us! The Doctor twigged to this, so the Master blew 'em all up! Poor Renny was holding one! Grab an extinguisher and get to work! Some of the stuff in the lab might be too nasty for the sprinklers!"

By then, Doc was halfway up the stairs to the next level, the Doctor close on his heels. Entering the small hangar, Doc threw the switch to open the access hatch to allow the autogyro to launch. He soon had Renny loaded into the machine's enclosed cabin, and he and the Doctor scrambled in and took to the air.

"All right, Doctor! Where are we going?" shouted Doc over the roar of the engine as they headed eastwards. The small craft bounced in the choppy air as another thunderstorm appeared to be brewing, causing the Doctor considerable worry about his patient.

"Head for the Fair as fast as possible, and set down as close as you can to the rear of the British Pavilion!" came the response. And I hope to Omega someone hasn't moved the TARDIS again! This could end up being a terrible mistake! he thought to himself as he watched the first flickerings of lightning.

Before long, they had landed at the Flushing Meadows site. The approach of the autogyro had attracted a good deal of attention, which only increased as it became apparent that it meant to land. Fortunately, it was a Monday morning, and after the unplanned excitement the day before, the attendance at the Fair was rather light. Doc swung the craft around toward the Lagoon of Nations to draw off the attendees clustering to be on hand when the ship touched down, then doubled back quickly to the 'Gardens on Parade' exhibit next to the British Pavilion and deftly set the craft down on the 'Fine Turf Grasses' section.

The Doctor scrambled out and ran for the rear of the pavilion, Doc coming along behind with Renny, leaving a thin trail of blood.

Rushing in via a rear door of the pavilion, the Doctor stopped the first person he encountered. "Storeroom!" he demanded tersely. The man, startled by the Doctor and recognizing Doc Savage, simply let his jaw drop and pointed. "Thank you!" said Doc as they ran off.

Inside the storeroom, the Doctor's relief was palpable as he spotted the familiar form of his beloved TARDIS. Doc Savage had no idea what the Doctor had intended and was simply following his lead; he was astounded as the Doctor ran over to the small blue box. "What are you waiting for! Come on!" called the Doctor, and flung open the door.

Doc's surprise on entering the spacious TARDIS control room was so great that he nearly stumbled and fell. Following the Doctor, they took a corridor out of the far side of the room, around a corner, and down a flight of stairs. Another turn or two and they were in a large, well-lit room containing a number of very strange looking machines. The Doctor opened the transparent lid of a large cabinet, uncomfortably reminiscent of a sarcophagus, and called, "Quickly! Get him in here! Carefully! See if we can get his outer clothes off!"

With feverish haste, Renny was installed in the machine, and the lid closed. The Doctor began playing chords on a bank of controls on the side of the box, as indicators on the panel began to illuminate, most of them a dire red, and a low hum began.

At last, Doc allowed himself the leisure to look around and take stock of his surroundings. If he had been startled and astounded when he had stowed away on one of the Comet Gang's ships, and unexpectedly experienced the disorientation of no gravity, that was nothing compared to the assault on his reason and his senses provoked by this impossible place. An unaccustomed feeling of awe and fear crept over him.

"This is not within the British Pavilion, is it?" Doc asked. "The blue box was not simply an entryway to rooms and corridors in the pavilion building, was it?"

The Doctor looked at Doc Savage with a mixture of sadness, sympathy, and regret on his face. "No, it isn't part of the British Pavilion. Your conclusions are quite correct. I had hoped to spare you the burden of this knowledge31. This is the TARDIS, my home, and my vehicle. We'll need to talk, but for now, let's just keep an eye on how Renny is doing."

Doc strove mightily to compose himself. "Can I assume that the Master has a similar – contrivance?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"All right," Doc drew in a deep breath. "What's Renny's condition?"

"Burns, blood loss, and shock. The damage to the skin, muscles, bones, and nerves in his right hand is the most intense, but the blast was close enough to his chest to break ribs and damage his heart. He may also have a punctured lung. His vital signs are weak and thready. I think we were in time, but he's not out of danger. The blood loss was considerable."

X. The Discussions

Doc's headquarters was a scorched, smoky, soggy mess. The fires had been extinguished, but the laboratory was largely a ruin. Fortunately, with the exception of Renny, there had been few injuries. As one of the least affected, Johnny tended to the others. Long Tom and Ham were suffering from smoke inhalation; he found them a couple of small oxygen cylinders. Monk seemed to have gotten the wrong end of some miscellaneous vapors from burning chemicals in the lab, so he also got oxygen. At least he had managed to grab a respirator mask and start the lab's own ventilation system before accumulating too much exposure. Johnny moved on to the girls. Leela had been with Pat in the gym, and had been knocked out when the explosion caused a weight rack to tip over and fall on her. Pat had been able to pull her free and get her out of there when electrical damage started a fire. K-9 was currently monitoring her.

Several people had first or second degree burns. Johnny found a first aid kit and dealt with those as quickly as he could. Everyone was wet, grimy, and bruised. Smoke, and water from the sprinklers, filled the room.

Assured that no one was in serious danger, Johnny began organizing their response. Monk and Ham were detailed to deal with the water, and Long Tom was inspecting the facility's electrical systems. "K-9 – Can you help me check this wiring? We need to get our communications working again!" called the electrical engineer.

"Affirmative." The robot dog rolled off to assist.

And then the police arrived.

It was a respectable contingent. First were Officers Lynch and Socha of the Bomb and Forgery Squad; their boss, Lieutenant Pyke, was with them, along with several other detectives from the Squad. Then there was 'Hardboiled' Humboldt and a half-dozen patrolmen, and Humboldt was visibly raging. Not to be outdone, there was a fire crew and the Fire Marshall, and to round things out, a cadre of hungry-looking newsmen with cameras.

"Oh Cripes!" groaned Long Tom as he heard Humboldt screaming into their intercom from the lobby, demanding that everyone be brought up immediately. "Just what we need!"

"Pat! Grab Leela and K-9, and take 'em down to Hidalgo in the flea run32! Pronto! This ain't no welcome wagon! That way we won't be lying when we tell 'em you're not here!" he shouted. In seconds, the two women and K-9 were on their way, mere moments before the crowd arrived.

"Might as well let 'em in, Monk. We're gonna need to give this place a real good going over anyway, and they can't bring in anything much worse than what we carried in ourselves. But NO reporters! And don't let anyone wander around alone! Is there anything out that we don't want anyone to see?"

Monk slipped out the door, and started admitting the police and fire crews. It was obvious from his expression that he was hoping some of the journalists would take exception to being excluded so he could bounce them back downstairs.

"Hey, Mayfair! Let 'em in! We want everyone to see just what you have goin' on up here!" called Humboldt.

"Nuts to that, Hardboiled! Last I checked, this was still private property, and I guess we got a say in who comes in an' out!"

Once everyone had squelched their way inside across the soggy carpet, and the reporters had declined to give Monk a chance to eject them, Long Tom and Johnny each escorted a team consisting of some of the firefighters and some of the Bomb and Forgery Squad around, inspecting the damage and looking for more risks of fire and explosions.

Monk and Ham settled down in the conference room with Lieutenant Pyke and Humboldt and his Squad. Ham opened his mouth to begin, but Humboldt beat him to the punch.

"What kind of games are you idiots playing, withholding evidence from the police? We've got a good cop dead, two more in the hospital, a dead prisoner in the lockup, and damage and fire at the hospital! We know you mugs had a dust-up with a couple of prime suspects at the Fair last night, and then went off all pally with them. Where are they? And where's Savage and Renwick? We got enough questions for everybody!"

Monk's face went white as he realized that all of the strange disks must have exploded! Not only the ones at Doc's base, but those held by the police! And from the sound of it, some of the gunmen still had a few, in jail or in the hospital, in pockets or drawers, or in someone's hand...

Lieutenant Pyke halted Humboldt with a raised hand. A big man with graying temples and jug ears, James Pyke had been a driver for General Pershing in the Great War. He could be fierce or compassionate as needed, and was a lot smarter than most people took him for.

"I understand your anger, Detective, but the important thing here is to understand what just happened so my men can try and keep it from happening again. You'll get your chance. Now, General Brooks, Colonel Mayfair, you've apparently been quite busy recently. You may not know it, but we've had a series of explosions in prisoner detention, in our evidence locker, and at the hospital where some of the crooks who attacked you were being treated. From the look of things, you had a dose of the same thing here. It's obvious that this was no coincidence. What I want to know is, Who was responsible? How was it done? How were the bombs smuggled in? What are we looking for? I'll bet a week's pay you know something about this, and we need to know it, too! Please don't waste time feeding me a line – innocent people are being hurt!"

Monk buried his head in his hands. Ham thought, his mind racing, This is going to be most unpleasant, but t'were best done quickly! A little truth, to protect the larger story? then began. "You're right, we got the same treatment that you described. We believe this is the work of the murderer the papers are calling the Skulldriller Killer. You understand, we don't have evidence sufficient for a courtroom, but here's what we're confident that we know. We've seen circumstantial evidence that the Skulldriller – who we believe calls himself 'The Master' – may have a connection to the Comet Gang, and that his recent attacks are retribution for what happened to the Gang. He's trying to stir up a lot of trouble and the Fair gives him an endless supply of targets. If you've seen the photos from the shoot-up at the Fair, we believe that the Master was the man dressed in black. The other two, the woman and the man with the scarf, seem to know this 'Master', but we aren't certain what their relationship is. Possibly they represent a hostile faction of the Gang? It appears that they interfered with the Master's gunfire at the Fair."

Ham continued, "We succeeded in locating those two. The Fair workers who tipped you off," he said, looking at Humboldt, "surely mentioned that there was a fight, and some damage was inflicted. We brought them here rather than taking them to the police, because they are quite dangerous sorts. You've seen what the Skulldriller can do, and if they were connected to the Comets, they have a respectable bag of tricks. At some point, they made their escape – that wasn't a lie!", he thought, "– and they could be anywhere by now. We've been a bit too busy to go searching," he finished dryly. "Doc and Renny have headed back to the Fair. We're hoping they learn something."

"Yeah, we know. His 'gyro was seen heading East a few minutes after things went boom here," sneered Humboldt accusingly.

"Now for the part you're most interested in, Lieutenant," Ham ignored the angry detective. "We think that whatever he used for these bombs, they were small and powerful. He's relying on a large number of small bombs, rather than one large one. They're most likely innocuous in appearance – the sort of things that someone might pick up and carry around out of idle curiosity. I rather doubt there will be any more of those, but I also would certainly not venture to place a wager on that."

Humboldt took the bait. "So, you guys got fooled and carried the bomb in yourselves? Well, if that ain't one for the books!" he crowed, with a grin on his face.

Lynch's face was lined with worry. "So we could have dozens – or hundreds! – of small, unrecognizable bombs anywhere in the city, or plastered all over the Fair, just waiting to create an international incident!"

"How can we possibly fight this?" added Socha.

"Our best course of action is to locate the Master and deal with him," Ham said grimly. "We have to stop the man, not his devices."

Pyke looked at Ham shrewdly. "Why do I feel that's not all there is to this story? But what you said makes sense, and I don't think you lied to me."

"They say a little confession is good for the soul!" added Humboldt. "So where'd you stash the scarf guy and his girlfriend, Mayfair? Or are you savin' her for yourself?"

Monk's face took on an odd sort of a grin, and he replied, "Hardboiled, if she wuz here right now, I would hand her over to you with my compliments! We believe in helping the police, we do, and I wouldn't want you to think we wuz withholding evidence!"

"I must stress," Ham added, addressing the police as a group. "Should you encounter any of these people, use extreme caution. Gather information, unobserved if possible, and above all, report in! Do not approach them unless you are absolutely certain! They can be deadly!"

The bomb and fire teams returned. As far as they could tell, there was little chance of any more explosions or outbreaks of fire. The Fire Marshall and Pyke gathered up their men – including a reluctant Humboldt – and left. They would get little sleep in the coming days, trying to plan for the unknown, with no solid data. Doc's men resumed the weary job of clearing up the mess that had been their base and worrying about Renny.

Inside the TARDIS, Doc Savage and the Doctor settled down to watch over Renny and to talk. Occasionally, the lights on the machine in which the dour engineer lay would change their patterns slightly. Doc walked over and stared at the machine, and looked closely at what he could see of his friend through the lid. At one point, his strange trilling noise sounded, softly.

"You and the Master have fought like this before," Doc stated after a while. It was not a question. "I'm forced to assume that these encounters were never conclusive, since he's still free to cause trouble. How have you countered him before? And how has he escaped?"

"Yes, you're correct," replied the Doctor. "He's been captured several times. He is hideously intelligent and extremely accomplished at escaping. He always seems to have multiple plans prearranged to avoid his just deserts.

"Sometimes he's been beaten by circumstance. Often, he falls victim to his own arrogance and egotism. Once he believes he understands a situation, he can easily blind himself to any new information that contradicts his suppositions.

"A good bet is to let him think he has you cornered, and then surprise him with something unexpected. If he's startled, I believe he prefers to jump to a prearranged backup scheme rather than think on his feet – he probably enjoys showing off that he has anticipated anything you might do and already prepared a counter for it. He'll always underestimate opponents that he believes are his inferiors. This is very dangerous; it could easily result in deaths if things don't go according to his plan. It's probably safe to say that he is the most dangerous foe you've ever faced.

"He'll always have an array of small but lethal devices on him. He escapes by many means. He is very skilled at enlisting others to obey him. He is excellent at hypnosis, blackmail, and other forms of persuasion. He's a master of disguise and has many faces. He is quite talented as an escape artist, and he always has a plan. Even his backup plans have backup plans."

"If you weren't here, we wouldn't stand a chance against him, would we?" Doc stated, abruptly turning to face the Doctor. Once again, this was not a question. "The things that he can do, that you both can do? What hope would we have? This very place we're in bears that out quite thoroughly."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short – " the Doctor began, but Doc cut him off.

"Please be honest with me," implored Doc. "You're not even human, are you?"

"I suppose it was too much to hope that someone like you wouldn't notice. If I may ask, what convinced you?"

"The information panel on this machine of yours here has displays for two hearts."

"Ah yes. I would have liked to keep that realization from you. There are times and places where admitting to my nature is safe, and others where having that be known is... risky. But I thought it better to save your friend's life than to worry about my own secrets. Is it so bad if I'm not human?"

"It might be, if that brings beings like the Master down on us. It's clear that he sees us as playthings – at best. And you, Doctor, how do you see us? As pets? As amusements? What are we to you?"

With a weary expression on his face, the Doctor looked up from his seat at Doc Savage standing over him. "I see you as friends. For all the differences between us, I see things in all of you that I like, and that I cherish. I see people who share something of the sense of wonder that I feel, when we each look at the universe around us."

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor's face seemed to shift, and an impish look came into his eyes. "And before you fall into despair regarding the Master, let me tell you about a time when he was bested by someone he considered beneath his contempt.

"He'd set up under a false identity and was trying to outwit a military organization to steal a machine he wanted. There was a particular Sergeant in his way, Sergeant John Benton. The Master called Sergeant Benton on the telephone and posed as his commanding officer and ordered him to leave his post. The Master's mimicry was perfect, and Sergeant Benton left. When the Master moved in to seize his prize, he found Sergeant Benton waiting for him; the Sergeant, not fooled, had left, circled around, and snuck back in. Benton succeeded in getting the drop on the Master, because in the Master's arrogance, he refused to credit Benton with enough intelligence to see that the Brigadier would never behave as the Master had done in his imposture. The Master thought merely mimicking the Brigadier's voice and using an ingratiating manner would be enough33. Sergeant Benton – Warrant Officer Benton now – and the Brigadier are both very good friends and I am proud of them."

This tale returned a spark of life to Doc Savage's eyes. "What do we do with him when we get him?"

"I take him back where we came from for judgement and punishment."

Doc absorbed this in silence, as one more confirmation that the Doctor and the Master were part of a larger society. He found this worrisome and frightening.

"All right. How do we get him?" he asked.

"He's most likely to follow one of two paths. He wants to destroy you. He may try to kill you himself. He also wants to make you – and me – suffer. So he may decide to attack innocent targets here first, to torment us."

"We need to steer him onto the first course. I'll make myself a target to draw him out. You and Leela, and my friends, will do what you can to keep him from going after anyone but me."

"If we can. There are millions of possible targets here for him. And there's an excellent chance you'll be killed."

"I promise, I'll go down fighting."

Their discussion was interrupted by a soft chime from the medical cabinet. Two of the red lights on its status panel had shifted to green. The two men quickly went to the machine. "Good," said the Doctor. "It looks as if our friend's been stabilized. It'll take some time for the machine to repair the damage, but I think the odds are now in his favor."

"Is there a way I can contact the others? I'd like to let them know, and check their situation."

The Doctor led Doc Savage back up to the control room, fiddled a bit with some controls, and took Doc to a normal-seeming telephone.

XI. The Soul-Searching

The Master had taken a moment to savor the thought of the destruction and pain he had unleashed, and decided that he now had some leisure in which he could indulge himself. Leaving his TARDIS, he invested several hours in wandering the city, conducting a bit of research and seeking out likely figures – businessmen, politicians, and criminals – that he could bend to his will and keep as convenient assets for the future. He visited a bank and convinced a teller to grant him a large withdrawal, which the teller would never remember, and then made a few prudent investments. After this, he returned to the Fairgrounds and began touring the exhibitions of the various world governments, to enlist more allies – willing or not.

On the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, Doc's crew were dirty, sweaty, and exhausted. Tempers were frayed. Monk and Ham had nearly come to blows. Pat and Leela had returned with K-9 and pitched in on the cleanup.

Everyone was taking a few minutes to catch their breath and grab a sandwich. Monk was muttering about moving on to clean up the lab next when the phone rang. Ham answered it.

"Hello, Doc Savage's headquarters, Doc's not... Doc? Is that you?" his voice quickly changed from tired to excited and hopeful as he flipped a switch to cut in a loudspeaker.

"Yes, Ham, it's me. First of all, Renny is being cared for, and thanks to the Doctor, he's in better shape than we could have hoped for, but it will be a while before he's up and around." Doc paused briefly while the relieved clamor from his audience died down. "I imagine we've had official visitors?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the attorney. "We've been visited by Lieutenant Pyke and his men from the Bomb Squad, as well as the Fire Marshall and his men, and of course, the party would not have been complete without Hardboiled Humboldt, who was most certainly spoiling for a fight."

"What's our status? Are we operational?" asked Doc.

"Not yet, but we're makin' progress," reported Monk. "It'll be a while before the joint is pretty again, an' rebuilding th' lab will take a week or two, but Long Tom is gettin' his money's worth out o' K-9. Power just came back on, but right now all we got for communications is one outside phone line and two radios. Plumbing won't be working till sometime tomorrow - maybe. It's just a durn good thing that them bomb disks in th' lab didn't crack the gas main, or the whole joint could'a gone up!"

There was a brief scuffle as Ham reclaimed the phone. "Speaking of those bombs, Doc, I have bad news. The Master didn't set off just the ones we had here – he detonated all of them! There's a dead policeman and a dead prisoner, more police injured, and fire and damage at the police precinct and the hospital! No wonder Humboldt is on the warpath!"

This was horrifying news. Doc's voice took on a note of grim determination. "All right. We need to find the Master, and we need to stop him. Have Long Tom bring Leela and K-9 to the area behind the British Pavilion as quickly as he can. Tell him not to forget the Doctor's detector, and a set of clothes for Renny! Make sure the base is secure and be ready to go hunting!"

"You heard Doc!" called Long Tom. "We can lick our wounds later! Let's move!" With that, the call was ended.

Doc turned to the Doctor. "The Master didn't have to set off all of those disks at the same time, did he? That was a deliberate choice he made, to hurt and kill innocent people for his own amusement, and to try and goad us into getting angry and making a mistake, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"That settles it. We must lure him away from the Fairgrounds. We can't risk all of these people. I can be a target for him. How do we make certain that he knows his prey isn't here, and how do we guarantee that he pursues me? Do you think luring him to the New Jersey pine barrens would be safe enough?"

"I really doubt the Master would cooperate. He's quite capable of staying here to kill and destroy, simply because that will hurt us more. He'll carve a swath of pain just to savor it when you surrender. He won't let himself be lured away, why should he? Right now, he has an entire Fair, not to mention the surrounding metropolis, as his hostages, and that gives him all the leverage he needs. We have to play the game his way, and as hard as it is, we'll have to outthink him!"

"But you've done that before, and whenever you've captured him, he seems to keep coming back! I doubt he's one to forget a grudge! How many times will he return to kill and destroy here?"

Normally, Doc Savage kept a very tight rein on his emotions, but now he was fighting a mixture of fury and hopelessness. Doc dropped into a seat along the wall and closed his eyes. He remembered his battles against the monomaniacal genius, John Sunlight. Sunlight had been close to a match for the Master in terms of sheer evil. Thankfully, Sunlight had not had the Master's overwhelming technology at his disposal. Those encounters were the closest Doc had ever come to breaking his personal code. "Paradise, to anyone who dips his sword in the blood of John Sunlight!" Doc had called to the Mongol tribesmen, invoking them to help him put an end to that fiend34.

He had often thought about it since then; he still had nightmares about it. Did he have the right to hold fast to his code of honor, if doing so would cost people their lives? If a choice was necessary, between his code and saving others, what choice would he – could he – make? If he sacrificed his code for expediency, would he be setting himself on the downward path? Then what would he become? What Humboldt was always ready to suspect him of being?

So far, he had been good enough that such a choice had never truly been necessary. Now, he was uncertain that this would continue to be so. True, he wasn't alone in his fight to oppose the Master. He had his friends, and he had the Doctor, who seemed to be a match for the Master, and who had beaten him before. But how far could he trust the Doctor? How much help could he count on from this strange being, and what sort of help would that be? Those two had been friends at one time. What was the Doctor's agenda, and where did his loyalties ultimately lie? How committed was the Doctor to protecting humanity? Even if they won in the end, what would the cost be?

Troubled, Doc retreated into a series of mental disciplines and breathing exercises to try and calm himself. A while later, he opened his eyes to see the Doctor standing before him, offering him a cup of tea. "It is a heavy burden, isn't it? Fortunately, we all have our friends to help us," commiserated the Doctor. "I've been back downstairs to check on Renny. He seems to be improving. And Long Tom, Leela, and K-9 should be here soon. I've been thinking, and I believe I know our first course of action – "

In unison, "We need to find the Master's base," (Doc) – "We need to find the Master's TARDIS," (the Doctor).

After a beat, Doc continued, "Long Tom is a pilot. He can take you, K-9, and the detector, and try to triangulate on the other – TARDIS, is it? – with the autogyro. I would imagine that you want to leave someone here to watch over Renny; you wouldn't want him to wake up here alone. And the only person suitable for that job would seem to be Leela. Unless there are others here?"

"No, it's just the three of us."

"I have some things to do, and I'll want to speak with Lieutenant Pyke."

"Yes, that matches my own thinking. Shall we go out and wait for them?"

As they approached the exit, Doc asked, "There is one thing I've been curious about, with regard to this 'home' of yours, if I may ask?"

"Yes, of course," replied the Doctor, smiling inwardly as he anticipated the old, familiar question, and prepared an answer.

"Why does the outside look like a British Police Telephone Box?"

The weather, following the brief pleasant spell during the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion, had reverted to the pattern that Grover Whelan was coming to hate – hot and muggy, with lowering gray clouds and grumbles of thunder. The first few drops of rain were beginning to fall, but there were still thronging crowds of fairgoers. Emerging from the British Pavilion, Doc and the Doctor saw a group of young boys clustered around Doc's autogyro; a fight was in progress. The Doctor stopped to observe as Doc strode over towards them.

At his approach, most of the youngsters ran off; two of them, about 6 or 7 years old, in tee shirts, jeans, and sneakers, stayed behind and stood their ground. "Hello, there! I hope you boys are enjoying the Fair!" Doc smiled at them.

"Hey! You're Doc Savage!" one of the wide-eyed boys proclaimed excitedly. The other asked, "This is your 'gyro, ain't it?"

"Why yes, I believe I am, and yes, this is my ship," Doc replied. "What was going on with those other fellows?"

"Aw, we all came over to get a close look at your 'gyro," the first boy answered offhandedly. "Them other guys wanted to fool around with it an' try to get inside! My pal Bud and I didn't think they oughtta do that, and we was tryin' to keep 'em out! My name's Tom! I'm gonna be an inventor when I grow up!" he added proudly.

"That's right!" added Bud hurriedly. "Those bums put up a good fight, but we was takin' care of 'em! Anyway, Tom an' I got here first. Those other kids didn't show up till after the cops left!"

"Cops?" inquired Doc laconically.

"Yeah! There was two cops come by to check out your plane. They said they were lookin' for you!" Tom answered breathlessly. "They were a couple of sourpusses, and seemed pretty nasty!"

"So I told 'em we saw you heading into the 'Town of Tomorrow'35, and they took the bait!" Bud added smugly. "Then them other clowns showed up, and we hadda mix it up with them," he added ruefully, rubbing a sore spot.

Doc told the two, "You know, you should never lie to a policeman", he said solemnly, managing to keep a straight face. "But I do thank you for looking out for my ship. Are you here with your parents?"

"Yeah!" said Tom happily. "We're both here with my Mom and Dad, and my sister Sandy! My Dad's an inventor, too!" he boasted enthusiastically.

"Perhaps you should rejoin the rest of your family," Doc suggested, "and here's a small reward for your services. Enjoy the Fair!" He handed each boy a silver dollar gratefully.

"Hey! Thanks!" and with that, Bud and Tom ran off swiftly.

The Doctor walked over and stood beside Doc. "Children are remarkable. They so often help remind us how to be our better selves," he observed philosophically.

A few minutes later, one of Doc's cars arrived with Long Tom, Leela, and K-9. The Doctor looked over the Artron Detector for signs of damage from the explosion at Doc's base, and decided to take it into the TARDIS for a bit of work. Leela accompanied him, visibly annoyed at being sidelined to tend the wounded Renny.

"So, Doc, what's the plan?" asked the sickly-looking electrical wizard, handing Doc a bag of sandwiches and a thermos. "I guess you didn't have a chance to eat since yesterday."

"We've all been underestimating the true scale of this threat," replied Doc. "I need to speak with Lieutenant Pyke – we'll need his support and his manpower – but I want to avoid Detective Humboldt. We must stop the Master as quickly as possible, but he holds all the cards. Perhaps we can change that. I want you to take the autogyro and fly the Doctor and K-9 around while he searches for the Master's base of operations with that detector of his. Finding that and neutralizing it seems to be our best hope to strike against him. I gather that this base is disguised as something innocuous; it may well be mobile. I'm sure it'll be very dangerous. I hope the Doctor is ready to go, because there are police searching for us." With that, Doc took the car Long Tom had arrived in and left.

Long Tom waited by the autogyro for over half an hour. There had been a brief rain shower, but fortunately, the skies were now clearing as the Doctor and K-9 approached. "Guess we better go while we have weather and light," he told them. Soon, the autogyro, with its living and mechanical passengers, was aloft, seeking its quarry.36

XII. The Hunt

The policeman was hot, tired, and frustrated, but mostly he was bored. He was standing in an intersection at the side of the Empire State Building, directing traffic. Drawing a detail like this was far beneath the duties he normally performed, and he still fumed about it, feeling that it was a rebuke or a punishment, despite what his Sergeant had said about the importance of his mission.

From where he stood, he had a fine view of one of the ramps leading from the street to the private parking level beneath the skyscraper. He suspected that there were other officers similarly placed around the great building, and wondered if all of them had done something to get in the Sergeant's black books.

A screech of brakes drew his attention, but there was no crash of crumpling metal. A tired old heap with Ohio plates and steam seeping out from under the hood was stopped in the middle of the intersection, a browbeaten-looking middle-aged man at the wheel, with a red-faced, formidable looking woman in the passenger seat holding a very unwieldy road map and screaming at the driver. Tourists! thought the cop, contemptuously, in town for the Fair. Whyn't they stay back on the farm and read about it in the papers and watch it on the newsreels?

While he continued to mentally characterize the Fair as just about the sort of circus you could expect from a guy like Grover Whelan (known to rank and file policemen as "The Gardenia of the Law" from his time as Commissioner, for his attention to sartorial detail), he almost missed the small gray car unobtrusively slip down the ramp to the sublevels of the skyscraper. Almost.

He did get enough of a look at the driver to see that he was a large man, with coal-black hair. At this, he grinned. He had always heard that Doc Savage was a genius at disguise, but you had to get up pre-e-e-t-t-t-y early in the morning to put one over on Officer Dunsell! Turning, he faced an alleyway not readily visible from passing traffic on the street, and gave the high sign. A large force of police, led by Detective Humboldt, quickly moved in on the skyscraper.

In the lobby, Humboldt got on the intercom, demanding that they be let in. Unfortunately for him, he spoke with Johnny. Trying to extract meaning from the archaeologist's vocabulary was not doing Humboldt's blood pressure any good.

"I hypothesize that you can assure us that you have procured adequately completed and authorized legitimate instrumentalities granting you standing and approval for this unwarranted scavenging and rummaging through our domicile and place of business?"

"LISTEN!" Humboldt bellowed, a vein in his forehead beginning to throb visibly, "I told ya once already, this ain't a search! This is hot pursuit! We know you an' yer Merry Men are harboring someone wanted for questioning by the police, Littlejohn! Now, are ya gonna let us in, or are we gonna take this place apart with a can opener?"

Johnny chuckled, "Merry Men? Quite risible indeed, Detective! I had no estimation you were so erudite! By all means, please feel free to avail yourself of ingress into our abode." The elevator unlocked, and the police were quickly whisked to the 86th floor.

Despite Humboldt's claims, a thorough search of the entire facility was made, but no sign of Doc Savage was found anywhere. Humboldt called his precinct and had them contact a radio car on the street, which checked with the street-level observers. There had been no traffic in or out. Humboldt settled for browbeating Johnny, Monk, Ham, and Pat, but it was obvious that they had been hard at work all day.

Down on the Hudson River waterfront, near the Chelsea Piers, a garage door opened on the street side of the Hidalgo Trading Company's warehouse, and a battered old pickup truck sputtered out onto the street. The driver, a fat, swarthy man of immense girth in patched and greasy coveralls, climbed out to close the warehouse door. Then, accompanied by the creaks and groans of aching joints, and muttering under his breath in an Italian accent, he climbed back into his machine, whose springs sagged visibly as he entered, and then slowly drove off down the street under the gray clouds.

The autogyro flew cautiously over the city, moving southwest from the fairgrounds and staying reasonably low, a mere few hundred feet above the tallest buildings. Long Tom had enough to worry about without risking a collision with an airliner approaching New York. Their original line on the Master's base was roughly east-northeast from Doc's headquarters. Long Tom wanted to get off of that line to try and get a more reliable cross-bearing. They searched for a few hours, and seemed to get a reading pointing at the Astoria area of north Queens, near Woodside and Ditmars Steinway, before the indicator needle went crazy and the entire device died.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the Doctor. "There was some damage after all – I think it's those improvised power filters!"

"Okay," called Long Tom over the roar of the engine. "Anyway, I don't like the look of this sky. I'm going to head back to Doc's place before things start opening up and we run into weather we can't handle!"

They soon made their way to headquarters, where the approaching storm and the tall buildings made landing a tricky proposition despite the increased control provided by the ship's stub wings, arriving not long after the police left. As they began sorting through the damaged facilities of the electrical lab, the others clustered around, eager for news of Renny, and were quite disappointed when Long Tom confessed that he had not had a chance to see their comrade.

"Doc stopped by here, didn't he?" asked Tom, sorting through a box of condensers. "He should have had something to say. Hey, hand me those inductors."

"Yes, Doc was here," replied Ham, "but he never broke stride, just swept in and back out via the flea run. All he said was that he was encouraged that Renny was getting the best care possible. I believe he simply wanted to focus the attention of the police here while he went elsewhere."

The Doctor looked up from his study of the insides of the detector. "Renny's wounds were quite serious, and he lost more blood than we had thought, but he is in robust health, and we got him to treatment as quickly as possible. I really expect that he will be up and around in a day or two."

"Will he lose his hand?" asked Monk, worriedly.

"Oh, no, not at all! But I believe there will be some scarring."

"Who's administering treatment, monitoring, and medicine for our colleague? Leela? Has she been credentialed and demonstrated adequate proficiency and skill in emergency cases of this nature?" inquired Johnny.

"Yes, Leela is looking after him. She doesn't have a medical degree, but she and her people have a great deal of experience in dealing with injuries. She has considerable resources available to help Renny, and she can contact me instantly if necessary," soothed the Doctor, sealing a connection in the detector with his Sonic Screwdriver.

"So, just what the heck is that weapon the Master uses t' burn holes in people's heads, anyway?" asked Monk idly.

"Oh, it's primarily a specially-focused, high-energy form of light," the Doctor replied offhandedly, his attention concentrated on his work. Monk looked thoughtful at this statement. "He's also quite fond of a small device called a 'Tissue Compression Eliminator'. It shrinks things down to miniscule size. Doing it to a person kills them. He has another weapon called a 'Staser'. It's most effective against living tissue – causes great disruption."

His work on the detector now complete, Doc's crew began questioning the Doctor about what he and Doc were up to, and what plans were being made to capture the Master. The Doctor gave them an edited version of his conversation with Doc, explaining that the Master was unlikely to abandon the Fairground. He outlined Doc's idea to serve as a stalking horse, setting himself up as a target for the Master, and relying on all of them to protect the fairgoers. It was clear that no one liked this plan, but there seemed to be no better solutions to hand.

"From what you say," said Ham, thoughtfully, "It sounds as though the police have divided into two camps. Humboldt, and those officers who sympathize with him, are sore at us because of their friends being hurt or killed; they want to take over the search and take our friends into custody. Whereas Lieutenant Pyke has the apprehension of the Master as his top priority. That conflict is likely to complicate matters," he mused.

Discussions continued over a sketchy supper of sandwiches, soup, and coffee, as they consulted maps of the Fair and tried to make plans, only too aware of the incomplete nature of their knowledge. Outside, darkness fell, as did the rain, punctuated by thunder and lightning.

James Pyke was, unsurprisingly, nursing a headache. He had just finished dinner and was trying to convince himself to return to the paperwork involved in dealing with the explosions at police headquarters, when he would much rather be listening to the radio with a cup of coffee – or a beer – when there was a knock at the door.

Well, no need to bother his wife. He answered the door to find a large, fat, unsavory-looking fellow dripping rain. The streetlights cast stark shadows across his face under the darkened, cloudy sky. "Signor Pyke? May I come in? I believe we need to talk."

Detective Humboldt was in a black mood. He had just finished a session with the Chief, and that worthy was no more pleased with things than Humboldt himself. The Chief had made it crystal-clear that yes, he very much wanted to speak with Doc Savage, but he wanted even more to have the police locate and detain the man and woman who seemed to be a central part of things. But most of all, he wanted the Master found and stopped, either arrested or killed. And he wanted these things done by the police, not by Savage or his crew. The newspapers were starting to sound as if New York was a complete hotbed of mass murder and mad bombings. The Chief had had an earful from the Commissioner, who had had an earful from the Mayor, who had had an earful from Grover Whelan and the board of governors of the Fair, and from far too many foreign dignitaries. The Chief had been particularly unimpressed at the time and manpower Humboldt had spent on the 'trap' at Doc Savage's headquarters. Humboldt had already had words with Officer Dunsell, threatening to have him reassigned to traffic detail permanently.

The avalanche was being felt throughout the police department, but the focus was on Lieutenant Pyke and on Detective Humboldt. Humboldt was left with absolutely no uncertainty. He needed to show results within a day or two.

Returning to his desk, Humboldt resisted the temptation to sweep all of the useless reports on it into the waste can, and decided to light another fire under the street-level patrols searching for Doc Savage, the Master, and the other suspects. He was reaching for his phone when it rang.

"Detective Humboldt?" came a familiar, resonant voice. "This is Doc Savage. I've found something that the police need to see at once."

"Lissen, Savage, whatever it is, you get yourself and it down here to headquarters right now! I ain't playin' games with you!"

"I would love to, Detective, but at the moment, I need to keep hold of a captive. I'm at the Rexall Drug Store two blocks east of you. Meet me there quickly and possibly you can break this case." And with that, the connection was broken.

Humboldt was furious at being ordered around by an amateur. And the Chief wanted results, did he? Well, he'd give him results! He took only enough time to ensure that his gun was loaded. He should have taken additional police with him, but everyone available was already out on the search. Anyway, if there was no one else around, maybe Savage would try something and accidentally catch a bullet. With that, he ran for the stairs.

Screeching to a halt near the Rexall, Humboldt left his car in front of a fireplug and ran for the store, his hand on the revolver in his coat pocket. Inside, he stopped to look around. There was no sign of the Bronze Man. Humboldt walked over toward the telephone booths in the corner, near the lunch counter. From behind him came a deep voice, "Detective Humboldt, I presume?"

Humboldt spun around, staring into piercing eyes of purest black.

"Thank you for your time, signor. I am most pleased that we are in agreement," said the greasy Italian man, as he walked out of Lieutenant Pyke's house. "Please be certain to be most careful!" he added as he waddled to his truck.

"You watch your own back. You seem to be set up to get the worst of this deal," replied Pyke as he closed the door. Returning to his living room, he switched off the radio and sat down in his battered, overstuffed armchair. He thought for a few minutes, then picked up the telephone on the side table as his wife brought him a cold beer. "Who was that?" she asked.

"One of my informants," he said distractedly as he dialed police headquarters. "He had some information about someone we're looking for, and a few ideas on how to find them. Hey, Ralph, it's Jim. Find the watch commander for Bomb & Forgery and have him set up an all-hands meeting for the beginning of next shift – that's what, two hours? I'll be there. We have a strike team to organize."

"Well, I'll say this," observed his wife, "That informant must be a good one!"

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

"Please, dear, I'm not stupid. The better they are, the less they look like they want to be seen with the police. Frankly, I'm amazed he was willing to show up in this neighborhood."

"Heh. Can't fool you! If anyone asks, he was here asking about trying to get a job working on our police cars. I need to go back into the office in a little while, but it should only take an hour or so."

"Yes, dear, that's what you say every time," she said with a smile.

Morning came early to the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. The day promised to be humid and steamy, but at least it wasn't raining. For now. There had been no word from Doc, or from Leela, so Long Tom and the Doctor prepared to resume their search for the Master's TARDIS. Monk, Ham, Johnny, and Pat were chafing at spending their time repairing the headquarters facility; they would rather have rejoined the hunt for the Master. But Monk still had repairs he could make on the plumbing and the most urgent matters in the laboratory. The Doctor, fishing around in the bottomless pockets of his coat, presented each of them with a small metal box, sized to fit comfortably in the hand. He indicated a small button on the side. "Press to turn it on, press to turn it off. When it's on, you'll be able to speak to each other, or to me. Here's one for Doc if you see him before I do."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Long Tom, "This's a lot smaller than our portable two-way short wave units!"

"Doctor?" asked Long Tom, as they refueled the autogyro, "Do I understand this right? That detector of yours works by picking up traces from the power that the Master uses for his gizmos?"

"Yes, essentially. It's an odd form of energy that makes his equipment work."

"Well, what with K-9, and your tools, and things... Don't you use the same energy? Won't the Master be doing the same thing, to try and track you down?"

The Doctor grinned in reply. "Ah, an excellent question! Doc chose his companions well! Yes, you're correct. There's nothing at all that would stop the Master from tracking me the same way I'm tracking him. But I suspect that he won't – or at least, that if he does, he won't succeed."

"Huh? How do you figure?"

"Well, there's something – odd – going on around New York City that is distorting and causing interference with the detector. I've had to take that into account and adjust it to compensate. That's also a large part of the reason we haven't found him yet. Without those adjustments, the detector would be sending us in the wrong direction. Now, if the Master took the time to think about it, he could easily make the same observations I did and make the same adjustments – he really is a first-class scientist. But when he's concentrating on his hatred and his plots, he might just overlook things like that. So, he may be tracking us just as we are tracking him, but I'm hoping he won't bother to take the time to think about it. I'd say the odds are just as good that he'll be going about his business and waiting for us to come to him."

"Oh, that just makes me feel ever so much better! C'mon, let's get going!" said Long Tom, gunning the engine. And with that, they climbed into the morning sky.

Their first stop was at the Fairgrounds, to look in on Renny. There was a brief argument, as the Doctor insisted that Long Tom remain with the autogyro. "Really, I'm doing you a favor," said the Doctor as he climbed out. "Leela will be in one of her surly moods at being left out of things, and you really don't want to be around her then. Besides, our landing seems to have attracted attention. I'll be quick!" and he was off, loping towards the Pavilion.

While Leela certainly was in a 'surly mood', it could have been worse. She had set up a target, and was practicing her knife throwing. There were only two scars in the TARDIS walls to attest to times when she had been distracted by the medical machinery. When the Doctor entered the room, she was standing beside the medical cabinet, staring at the wounded adventurer.

Hearing him enter, she spun around. "Doctor! How long is Renny going to be in here?"

Crossing over to the cabinet, the Doctor studied its instrumentation. "I should think he'll be up in a day, maybe two. This was serious, but it was merely mechanical repair, not like damage to the brain, or even to the more intricate internal organs."

Looking at Leela, he added, "I know you're anxious to come to grips with the Master, but we still have to find him. And if Renny were to wake up here, with no one around, he might well panic. If he comes to, help him out, talk to him, and feed him – he'll probably be ravenous. Be good to him, and call me at once."

Returning to the 'gyro, the Doctor and Long Tom were soon airborne, and began their search in earnest. Their route was circuitous, back and forth across the city, finding traces of signals here and there, then scooting off at an angle to cross-check from a different angle and triangulate on their quarry. It was time consuming, but they steadily closed in on the target.

After several hours of steady work, they were over a seedy area in Astoria, near Ditmars Steinway. The Doctor called to Long Tom over the roar of the engine, asking him to land. Long Tom settled the craft on a nearby building that looked to be structurally sound and had a flat roof. Alighting from the 'gyro, they made their way down a fire escape, with the Doctor carrying the detector and Long Tom carrying K-9.

Long Tom and the Doctor had descended to street level, and spent some time walking the sidewalks and alleys, following the detector, while K-9's 'ears' swiveled constantly, alert for more mundane threats. Long Tom rested his hand on the supermachine pistol in his belt holster, reassuring himself with its presence.

Normally, Long Tom was used to walking the streets of New York in complete anonymity – unless Doc Savage was with him; the Bronze Man could be counted on to attract the attention of passersby. But as Tom discovered, being accompanied by the Doctor and K-9 proved to be even more captivating to the populace. Most folks took them to be some sort of advertisement for the Fair.

As they were getting close to their destination, they were stopped by a well-dressed, middle-aged woman in a truly repulsive hat. "Are you from the Westinghouse exhibit, or General Electric?" she demanded abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the Doctor, startled out of his focus on the Artron Detector.

"That fascinating mechanical toy dog of yours – you got it at the Fair, right? Who makes it? Is it on sale yet? I simply must have one for my little Marvin's birthday next week!"

"Madam, I'm afraid you are quite mistaken..." began the Doctor, but the woman cut him off.

"Well, if it's not in the stores yet, I'll have to buy yours. I'm sure five dollars is much more than reasonable!"

Long Tom had been getting quite nervous at the possibility of coming face to face with the Master, and this was too much. "Scram, Sister! This ain't no toy! This is one of them new automatic toasters that Steinmetz is showing off at the Fair. The danged thing followed us home, and we don't know what to feed it!" His nonsense, and his fierce scowl, allowed them to escape their assailant while she tried to make sense of it.

"Correction. This unit is a mobile cybernetic sensor platform and data analysis system. Not a toaster," protested K-9 as they rounded a corner.

"Oh, don't you start, too," moaned Long Tom.

"Actually, that was quite well done!" grinned the Doctor. "Try and relax. You're much too tense. Have a Jelly Baby," he offered, holding out the small sack. They soon found themselves approaching a rundown apartment building. Three stories high, made of brick and badly in need of chinking and tuckpointing, the building's paint had also developed a somewhat scabrous appearance.

"Do you think he's in there somewhere?" asked Long Tom.

"Perhaps. If so, that would add a certain amount of difficulty to our search. Let's circle the building and see what the detector tells us."

Coming around to the rear of the building, they found a small, muddy parking lot with a few derelict cars and some trees that were still stubbornly trying to grow in this hostile environment. Under one of the trees stood a small gray shed, about six by eight feet, with a tarpaper roof, one door, and no windows.

"Master," K-9 piped up. "Readings indicate power source operating inside small structure directly ahead. Conjecture that it is the enemy's TARDIS."

"Yes, thank you, K-9. Be a good dog and stay alert for anyone in the vicinity."

"Complying, Master. Suggest this unit also conduct a scan for traps and security measures."

The trio cautiously approached the shed, K-9's ears swiveling back and forth. From an open window in the apartment block, a radio sportscaster was breathlessly recounting a contest underway at Yankee Stadium. Other windows treated them to the odors of fish and boiled cabbage.

Long Tom hung back slightly as the Doctor handed him the Artron Detector; K-9 and the Doctor approached the shed. With K-9's front antenna extended and ears swiveling, and the Doctor's sonic screwdriver whistling, they spent several minutes in rapt concentration, probing closely but being careful to not touch the structure.

"What do you think, K-9? Can you inject a command to unlock the door by inductive coupling?" asked the Doctor.

"Possible, Master, if TARDIS base code numerals are known."

"Hmmm. Well, we certainly don't have those. If I provoke it into making a response, while you scan the circuits, do you think you can decrypt the base code?"

"Success not guaranteed, Master. And there is a significant probability that provoking this TARDIS may have unfortunate results."

"Yes, well you know what they say about omelettes – they're better with some onions, green peppers, and mushrooms. Let's give it a try. Long Tom! Stay back a bit further, there's a good chap, and when the fireworks go off, try and get us out of here if we seem to be disabled."

At this, Long Tom looked even more worried, and backed up a few more steps, looking around the area before returning his focus to the shed. With K-9 motionless, the Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver directly at the shed's lock and triggered it at point-blank range. For a few seconds, the chittering whirr of the tool was the only indication of activity. Then an arc of electricity, like a baby bolt of lightning, jumped from the doorknob to the Doctor's chest and threw him back several yards!

"Alert! This unit under attack! Enemy systems attempting to gain access to my operating system kernel! Countermeasures in effect! Require assistance in severing connection to target system!" K-9 announced in a strident tone. Long Tom was unable to respond to K-9; he had immediately rushed to the Doctor and was searching for a pulse. Near panic, he began applying rhythmic compression to the Doctor's chest. Soon, the Doctor's eyes opened and he began looking around wildly.

Scrabbling in the mud, he retrieved his sonic screwdriver and aimed a burst at K-9, whose ears quit swiveling and whose lights went out; he appeared to have powered down. "K-9! Are you all right?" asked the Doctor worriedly. "Forget the tin dog!" yelled Long Tom. "Are you all right?"

With a little help from Long Tom, the Doctor climbed to his feet, brushing mud off of his coat and pants legs. "Thank you," said the Doctor. Just then, K-9's lights came back on, its ears swiveled, and its 'eye plate' resumed its dull red glow. "K-9! Status?"

"System intrusion limited to non-critical peripheral systems; core kernel remains uncompromised. Peripheral systems have been purged and reloaded from protected backups. This unit is fully functional." said K-9 reassuringly.

"Thanks to your assistance, Long Tom, I think this unit is fully functional as well. Although I may need a new shirt."

"Yeah, pity it was all for nothing, though. That's the meanest shed I've ever seen!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that! K-9, did you get anything?"

"Affirmative. Automatic logging has secured required data. Beginning decryption and analysis," came the reply.

"Nothing much to do until K-9 works out how to get the door open. We may as well get comfortable and wait." With that, the two of them sat on the running board of a disreputable 1929 Plymouth.

Rusterman's Restaurant was one of the finest dining establishments in all of New York. At one of their best tables, which usually required a reservation at least a month in advance (or a scandalous bribe), the Master's meal of rare Prime Rib and a special reserve Burgundy was interrupted by a soft beep.

Removing a small device from his pocket, he examined its face, and a cruel smile crossed his face. Congratulations, Doctor; you've located my TARDIS. Much good it may do you, he thought. If I wait for him and his ambulatory adding machine to decipher the combination, we'll all die of old age. Which would be an impressive achievement in its own right.

He made a few adjustments to the controls on his device, which would make it much easier for the Doctor to gain entrance to his TARDIS. Then, with great deliberation, he set a few more controls, put the device away again, and resumed his meal. Come into my parlor, said the Master to the Fly. Should I indulge in dessert?

"So." began Long Tom. "Once we get inside, what's the plan? Are we just going to try and put his gear out of commission? Sabotage it?"

"Something like that. Ideally, we need to make sure he can't use it. I don't want to destroy it, for several reasons. You've seen enough to know that we don't want to simply leave it lying around, even if it's been made inoperative. Things like this are too dangerous to risk someone tampering with them."

"Yeah. I've seen a lot safer ways to jump start a car."

"I think I can manage to remove components that he should have difficulty in replacing or improvising substitutes. At the very least, we should be able to inconvenience the Master or slow him down, if not actually stop him. He has too many things in there to disable them one by one, but they all use the same power system. If I can disable that, we'll knock out everything at once."

"Uh-huh. And what's my part in this?"

"Stand by out here and stay hidden. Watch for anyone approaching and if so, use your communicator to warn me."

"You know, Doctor, you have a real knack for making someone feel like an important part of the team," Long Tom said sourly, wiping some sweat off of his brow in the muggy heat.

"Master," threw in K-9. "Analysis complete. TARDIS Base Code Numerals deciphered. Preparing to open the door."

'Excellent, K-9! Good dog! Long Tom, this is going to be a difficult and dangerous job. I'm counting on you to watch our back!"

"All right, Doctor. I'll keep watch. But I'll be sweating bullets the whole time." He handed the Doctor his pocket flashlight. "No windows. It'll be dark in there."

At that point, the shed door swung open. The Doctor and K-9 entered. "How does he do that?" Long Tom wondered, and moved out of the late afternoon sun and into the shadows under the trees to begin his vigil. He had seen Doc Savage use mildly radioactive tokens to control automatic doors, but somehow this seemed different – out of place on this ramshackle shed. It was creepy, and menacing.

XIII. The Interlude

The mood in the detectives' room at precinct headquarters was grim and angry. Detective Humboldt was holding a meeting with several of his colleagues in Homicide. These were men who knew or were friends or partners with the officers who had been killed or injured when the Master's explosive disks went off.

"So, we're all agreed?" he asked, his eyes red and angry, glaring at the others seated around the scarred table or leaning against the lockers and bulletin boards. "No more treating these mugs with kid gloves. We dig in and we find the Skulldriller and show everyone what saps Savage and his fancy pants friends are. And if Savage and those chumps get in our way, we roll right over them and it'll be just too bad for them! If we have to shake those bums to get info from them, so much the better! As far as I'm concerned, the Skulldriller and Savage are both responsible for those cops gettin' hurt." He nodded at one of the other cops.

The other cop took up the thread. "Harry – you and Mick go lean on the rest of those mugs what attacked Savage at his HQ. Find out everything they know about the Skulldriller. Where they met him, how they contacted him, all of that." Other assignments were passed out, to check all of the pictures that had been collected from the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion, to re-interview everyone around the newsstand where the Skulldriller's second victim was found and find someone who had seen something, and to find Doc Savage.

Leela was quite annoyed about being restricted to the TARDIS to watch over Renny. Her knife throwing practice was interrupted by a series of loud panicky beeps from the machine that was tending to him. She dropped the knife she was about to throw, and it grazed her foot. Cursing, she hopped over to the medical unit and checked its indicators. Apparently, Renny had moved slightly and dislodged one of the tubes connected to him; a sensor had also come loose from his chest.

Opening the cabinet, she reconnected the tube and replaced the sensor pad. Frowning, she wondered if he really should be moving yet. Her hand still resting on his chest, she stared at the big man intently, as if seeing for the first time his strong features and his look of determination, still present on his face even while unconscious. Leela noted that the machine's readouts had returned to normal, and showed significant improvement in his condition. She might have remained there contemplating her patient for a while, but a twinge from her foot reminded her to close Renny's cabinet and tend to her own scratch.

On the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, people were exhausted and tempers were at the breaking point. There were still critical problems with the electrical systems and with the plumbing, but they had gone about as far as they could until more material arrived. For work like this, Renny's absence was keenly felt.

Johnny had suggested that they give priority to the security of the facility, so that if they had to leave, they could have some confidence that their sanctum would not be invaded by their enemies. That was about the last suggestion that they had agreed to unanimously and enthusiastically.

With that, they went their separate ways. In her car, before driving off, Pat followed up an idea she had withheld from the others. Keying her communicator, she tentatively asked, "Leela? Can you hear me?"

After a brief delay that felt far longer, the reply came. "Pat? Is that Pat? Yes, I can hear you."

"Have you heard anything from Doc, or Long Tom, or the Doctor? We're done with what we can do at headquarters, and are taking a break to clean up and eat, and then we're each going hunting."

"No, the Doctor and Long Tom were here some time ago. They took K-9 and went off hunting for the Master's TARDIS and I haven't heard anything since then."

Pat was about to ask Leela what a TARDIS is, then stopped herself. If Leela realized she was revealing information, she might quit talking.

"Thanks. How's Renny? Do you need anything? Can I bring you anything?"

"Renny is recovering. I think he's doing better than the Doctor expected. He seems to be quite impressive. I don't need anything. I hope Renny wakes up soon. I'd like to go looking for the Master myself."

Pat chuckled. "I think we all would. Say, do you think it's safe to try contacting the Doctor or Long Tom? I'm worried that if they're in a ticklish situation, having the communicator start making noise could put them in danger."

"You may be right, but I think they won't make noise if they're turned off. The Doctor can be infuriatingly absent-minded at times, but I suppose if there was anything to report or they needed help, Long Tom would remember to get in touch."

"All right. And thank you, Leela, for watching over Renny. I know it's not what you'd prefer to be doing, but it really means a lot to all of us."

"Call me once you're ready to start hunting."

"Okay. And you call me if there's anything I can do."

XIV. The Shed

Long Tom was in a sour mood. There was only so much interest and excitement to be had studying the wildlife in a New York City parking lot. He had not really expected to find mosquitos, though the unseasonable heat and near-constant rainfall meant their presence was not unreasonable. The discovery of a pair of dragonflies might have been of interest to Doc, or maybe even Johnny, but Long Tom was far from impressed. It had been over an hour since the Doctor and K-9 had entered the shed, and he was thoroughly fed up. Doc and the Doctor had kept emphasizing how dangerous the Master was, and how dangerous his 'base' was, and how they had to be oh! so careful and treat it like an unmarked mine field.

Well, he was perfectly willing to concede that the Master was dangerous, and a very capable foe; he'd proven that he was willing and able to kill, casually and cruelly, and that he had no regard at all for the lives of others. Apparently he could pull magical technology out of nowhere. But a six by eight tar paper shed? Unless the walls themselves were made of dynamite, how dangerous could it be? Yes, the contents could be deadly, but the Doctor and K-9 had had more than enough time to take a full inventory and haul everything in there outside by now.

Enough was enough. He was going to look inside and ask the Doctor what the holdup was.

Taking a minute to stretch and work the kinks out of his back and legs, still holding the Artron Detector, he walked up to the door and swung it open. He didn't faint – not quite; it was good that he had stretched and taken a few deep breaths.

The door opened into a large space, at least thirty feet in diameter, with a high, vaulted ceiling over fifteen feet high!

After an unknown amount of time, Long Tom found himself leaning against the side of the door frame – still the same, familiar, comfortably ugly door frame from the shed, with the same prosaic, homely door hinged to it – and hanging onto the edge of the door with a white-knuckled death grip. He was breathing rapidly, and there was a cold, clammy sweat on his forehead; his mind whirled in confusion.

The walls and ceiling of this impossible space were black. Large circular fixtures inset into the walls provided a dim, indirect white light, augmented by sparks of colored light from glowing controls and indicators set into panels in the walls and in a large freestanding hexagonal console in the center of the room with a transparent crystalline-looking column rising up from its center. A soft thrum of power systems in operation pervaded the shadowy space.

Of the Doctor and K-9, there was no sign whatsoever.

Long Tom had to take a minute to process this. He stood there, eyes closed, desperately hanging onto the door as though it were his sanity. Encountering the paradoxes inherent in a TARDIS is bad enough even if you have the Doctor as a guide, but Long Tom had to handle this solo.

Some people, more pragmatic or with less imagination, adjust to the TARDIS with little difficulty. It was Long Tom's misfortune to be intelligent enough and well-educated enough to begin to appreciate the implications of what he was seeing, and it nearly drove him mad.

As he stood there, hanging on the edge of panic, a police car chanced to drive past on a nearby street, unseen, its mission unknown, but with its siren blaring. The sound was enough to tip the balance, and help remind Long Tom of his mission and his obligations. He remembered how the Doctor helped Doc when Doc had been wounded by K-9. He remembered how the Doctor took immediate action to save Renny. And now it was his turn to possibly help repay those debts, if the Doctor was truly in peril, and maybe score some points against the monster who had hurt Renny and many others. But he had to focus on the situation at hand and keep his head.

Opening his eyes, he looked around. The large, roughly hemispherical room around him was unchanged, the hum of power and the shifting pinpoints of colored light still there. As if the unfathomable size of the room, inside the very pedestrian shed, was not bad enough, he could now see a few doors and a corridor leading off into other impossible spaces. Long Tom stepped fully into the strange room and closed the door. He hoped that closing the door wouldn't prove to be his very last mistake.

Following the electrician's rule of 'Look, but Don't Touch', he swept the room with his eyes without moving from his present spot. They had fully adapted to the dimness inside the 'shed' by now. After frustrating himself with a fruitless attempt to make sense of the bizarre instrumentation scattered around, he finally noticed something more understandable. The parking lot outside had been muddy. And on the floor, there were two sets of muddy tracks, nearly the same color as the floor – the Doctor's footprints, and the marks from K-9's wheels. The tracks separated and led from the door across to a few points along the walls, then converged again next to the central console, where they abruptly stopped. They didn't get fainter, they didn't tail off – they simply ended.

Why do I think it would be a very bad idea for me to go over to that particular patch of floor? Long Tom asked himself. I can't see a trap door, but that doesn't mean there isn't one there. Anyway, those tracks sort of show that I can maybe walk around, at least in those areas.

Long Tom cautiously followed the marks of K-9's wheels over to a wall panel. Its layout was indecipherable, but Long Tom was able to recognize that the markings on it were a mix of lines, arcs, and circles that seemed to match the mysterious symbols they had seen from the Skulldriller Killer. Some strange form of writing, and I wish Johnny luck in trying to figure it out, he thought.

He retraced his steps to the door, then followed the Doctor's footsteps. They didn't reveal anything to enlighten him, but from that perspective, he could see that where the tracks from the Doctor and K-9 converged near the central console pedestal, a lower cover panel had been removed from the console pedestal and was leaning against it. Lying on the floor a few feet away was his pocket flashlight; he picked it up. There was also a large rectangular panel on the wall, at roughly eye level. It seemed to be a window – it showed a view of the parking lot outside, but from an unexpected perspective. What should have been a view of the trees and the back of the parking lot showed instead a view out the 'shed's door – which was on the other side of the room. Oh well – what's one more mystery? thought Long Tom. Add it to the pile.

At that point, the afternoon sun outside came out from behind a cloud, visible through this odd 'window'. The additional light coming in brightened the room enough for Long Tom to see that at two points on opposite sides of the room, there were small wall fixtures oddly suggestive of antennas – or gun barrels – or some strange combination of the two. Each one poked out from a small recess, revealed by a sliding cover. They were both pointed directly at the spot where the muddy tracks ended.

Now, that seems interesting – for a somewhat sinister value of 'interesting', thought the electrical engineer. I wonder what they're intended to do?

He carefully moved over closer to one of these devices and began studying it with his flashlight and a pocket magnifier. He was careful to not touch the device, but put his left hand very close to the connections where thin cables from the wall attached to the thing. The hair on the back of his hand reacted. Also, long experience working with electricity had trained a sensitivity in him that allowed him to be pretty sure that the device was drawing power.

Mentally crossing his fingers, he took a tight grip on one of the insulated cables, drew a deep breath and held it, and ripped the cable out of the device.

In a moment of pure anticlimax, nothing happened.

Expelling his pent-up breath with a long sigh, he thought, Well, so much for that bright id...

And then, things happened.

From Tom's point of view, there was a silent burst of intolerably bright light, and it felt as though his head was turned inside out.

Having gotten fed up with waiting for the Doctor and K-9 to emerge, Long Tom opened the door to the shed and stepped inside. He stopped, motionless as a poleaxed steer, and gaped incredulously at the impossibly huge space inside the shed. Instead of the inside of a six-by-eight-foot tar paper shed, he was looking at a roughly hemispherical room at least thirty feet in diameter, with an arched ceiling more than fifteen feet overhead. The walls and ceiling were black, and the only illumination came from large circular fixtures set all around the walls, giving a soft, dim, indirect white light. There were also myriad colorful pinpoints of light from controls and indicators studding various odd panels in the walls and a large freestanding hexagonal console pedestal in the center of the room, with a tall crystalline-seeming column extending up from its center. This column seemed to have a slight glow of its own. A small curl of acrid smoke wafted up from the Artron Detector.

Next to the central console, the Doctor knelt beside an opened panel. K-9, with his front antenna extended, sat beside him.

"Doctor! What's the holdup? Wait – something just happened..." Long Tom's voice started with an annoyed, peremptory note, then trailed off faintly as a look of total confusion came over his face. "There were these two gizmos on the wall, and I pulled out a cable... I think... Or did I? What on Earth is going on? Am I going mad?"

"Analysis," chirped K-9. "Temporal Loop severed. Detecting additional intruder countermeasures beginning to operate. Suggest departing these premises immediately."

"I quite agree, K-9!" said the Doctor, hastily getting to his feet and starting for the door. "Come along, there's a good dog! You too, Long Tom!"

In seconds, they were all back outside. The Doctor closed the door to the shed and played his sonic screwdriver over it. "That won't keep the Master out, but it should prevent any unfortunate passersby from wandering in and getting into trouble."

As the Doctor hustled Long Tom away from the parking lot, the electrical wizard was confused. "Doctor? What in blue blazes is going on? Why are we running away? Why can't I remember what happened in there?" he asked, his face more sickly-looking than ever.

"All in good time," said the Doctor soothingly as he shepherded Long Tom down a narrow, dirty alleyway and into a disreputable tavern. "K-9, silent mode." The place was only about a third full, and most of the customers were clustered around a scratchy, staticky radio behind the bar, hoping Dem Bums would get on with it before it started raining hard enough to call off the game.

The Doctor found a table near the rear, in the shadows, and bought a few packets of peanuts and two beers from the bartender. He had no intention of drinking the beer, but it was necessary to blend in. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed K-9, who had parked under the table.

"Are you quite all right," the Doctor asked Long Tom solicitously, handing Tom the peanuts. "Protein, oil, and salt. Good for resetting the nerves. I'm afraid you took quite a jolt back there; I'm not surprised you're feeling disoriented. K-9 and I entered the shed and started in to disable the Master's equipment. But it seems he had anticipated us and left a booby trap, and we triggered it. Fortunately, he didn't foresee that you were accompanying us, and it's a good thing you were. You came in and released us from the trap, but took a backlash from the released power."

"Must'a been some jolt," Long Tom frowned, examining his hands and arms. "I don't see any electrical burns, but my head is still all messed up. A lot of stuff that don't add up. Unreal, like a dream."

"Yes, well, you didn't get a direct shock. That could well have killed you. You were just brushed by a corona discharge," the facile lie came easily to the Doctor. He was reluctant to tell Long Tom that he and K-9 had been trapped in a time loop until Tom had disabled the mechanism, and that the kickback had reset Tom back to the point at which he had entered the shed and left him with disjointed memories.

Long Tom picked up his beer, raised it to his lips, took a small sip, wrinkled his nose, and set it down again. "Bad idea," he said to himself, looking at the glass. Then, to the Doctor, "So now what? Do we go back and finish the job?"

"I'm afraid not. It would be too risky. It's obvious that the Master is prepared for us, and his things are defended. I managed to disable a few things, and I removed this," he said, holding up a small, odd-looking component with connectors sprouting off at odd angles. "I had planned to make a few alterations to it and replace it, but didn't get that far. Having a sabotaged unit in place could have seriously hampered him, but he'll immediately notice that it's missing. Its absence won't stop him. The question is whether he's laid in any spares, or will have to jury-rig a replacement. I think it's more important for us to make sure you're all right, and to report what we found. We were in a very bad way. If you hadn't come along, the Master would probably have won the day right there and then!"

"You're the expert," said Tom dubiously, frustration evident in his voice. "But what was the point of this scavenger hunt if we're not going to do anything now that we found it?"

"Yes, we do have an opportunity here, but we'll have to be cautious – and move fast – to make use of it. Not a good combination. Let's see if we can get in touch with the others. Come along, K-9."

They managed to make their way outside without attracting attention – almost. One devoted imbiber at the bar watched K-9 roll out the door, then ceremoniously poured out his drink. He accused the bartender of foisting off some leftover, tainted, bathtub rotgut from pre-Repeal, which led to an argument, which led to a fight.

The Doctor and Long Tom started retracing their steps back to the autogyro. Along the way, they were passed by a police car, which slowed, stopped, and then started backing up toward them. Long Tom grabbed the Doctor by the shoulder, dragged him into an alley, and shouted, "Run!"

They pelted down the alleyway, heedless of the mud and trash, with K-9 at his top speed. They had managed to get around a corner before the police managed to get out of their car and charge after them. After a few minutes of anxious chase, they had enough of a lead for the Doctor to open a steel fire door with his sonic screwdriver. They took refuge inside and the Doctor secured the door again.

"Why did we run?" he asked Long Tom in confusion. "I was under the impression that you chaps were on good terms with the police?"

"Yeah, well, they're still pretty sore about the fireworks the Master set off." He paused as the sound of running feet went by outside, and someone rattled their door in passing. After a minute or two, he continued, "I can't really blame them. Some of their buddies got hurt pretty bad, or even killed. We'll have to settle things with them sooner or later, but right now I'm hoping it's later. They still think you're likely to be working with the Master, and if they get their hands on you, it'll be a long time before you see the light of day again. And like you said, we need to move fast. Not to mention Renny might still need you."

Pulling out the communicator supplied by the Doctor, he pressed the button. "Can anyone hear me? This is Long Tom. Monk? Ham? Johnny?"

"Monk here. Yeah, I can hear you. What's up?" came the reply.

"We found where the Master has his stuff. We tried to discombobulate it, but it turns out it has teeth. No surprise, I guess. It's in Ditmars Steinway, north of the Grand Central Parkway, off 29th Street just north of 24th Avenue, in a small parking lot behind a three-story gray brick flophouse. What we've got is a six by eight tar paper shed under some trees. There was nobody home, but it put up a fight anyway. We hadda beat feet, and nearly got grabbed by some cops. The Doctor thinks he at least slowed the Master down some. We gotta get everyone together and figure out how to spike his guns for good. Has there been any word from Doc, or any news of Renny? How are you guys doing?"

"Everyone's fed up with playing janitor here. We was gettin' on each other's nerves, and we need to wait for stuff to keep repairs going, so we knocked off. We locked up and everyone went back to their own places to clean up and grab some food. I'm at my apartment. We wuz figurin' on heading out to hunt for any leads we could think of, but Ham got a call from Doc. He's meetin' up with Doc to pass off one of these weird radios to him. No word from Leela or any news about Renny."

"Try and get everyone back to HQ. Now that we know where the Master is working out of, we need to figure out what to do about it. If I bring the 'gyro back, are the hangar doors working? I don't think I could leave it sitting out on the curb."

"I'm not sure – they might have been disconnected for some of the electrical work. Why don't you park it at Hidalgo and come on up in the flea run? That should be in good shape. Better hurry – those storm clouds are making it dark early, but if the rain opens up, it could be a problem."

"OK, see you guys when we see you." Then, to the Doctor, "Thanks for these gizmos, Doctor. This is a big help!"

XV. The Battle

Cautiously emerging from their bolthole, Long Tom, the Doctor, and K-9 started towards the gyrocopter. The gathering storm was now a question not of 'if', but of 'when'. Normally, the wind beginning to whip litter across the sidewalks would be a welcome relief from the heat, but now it just added to the feeling of tension. The dark clouds made it feel like evening instead of late afternoon. In this case, Long Tom was glad of the anonymity granted by the encroaching darkness. At a street corner, he caught a glimpse of a clock in a storefront window, and was startled to see that it was earlier than he had thought. Checking his watch, he saw that it showed the time as about an hour later than the store's clock. Shaking it, he held it up to his ear to confirm that it was running, then reset it and wound it. Must have been affected by the fireworks back at the Master's shed? he thought in confusion. It still feels like a big chunk of the day went missing. How bad did I get zapped?

Once they had returned to the Empire State Building, they met with Monk and Johnny in the conference room. K-9 began reviewing the state of the electrical and communications systems while Long Tom and the Doctor told the others about their discovery of the Master's TARDIS. ("What on Earth is a TARDIS?" – Ham. "It's a catchall term for all the systems the Master has in that shed, but that's not important right now," – the Doctor.) As they waited for the others, Monk quizzed Long Tom and the Doctor about what they'd found. The electrical engineer closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, sighed, and finally said, "I can't be certain. Everything after I went in is all messed up in my head, until we got out of there. The Doctor said I put the kibosh on some booby trap the Master had set for him and K-9. I guess I must have caught a near miss from his power lines, and that rattled my slats." Just then, Ham and Doc arrived, and they began their discussions in earnest.

First, the Doctor contacted Leela to see how Renny was faring, and everyone was encouraged to hear that their friend should be up and around soon. The Doctor kept the channel open so that Leela could listen in.

Long Tom explained where their quarry was located. He described how it shot an electrical arc at the Doctor and tried to sabotage K-9. The Doctor then took up the tale and provided a very brief account of attempting to sabotage the power systems with K-9 and getting caught up in a booby trap, and that Long Tom had rescued them. Upon hearing that Long Tom had entered the Master's TARDIS, Doc watched Long Tom's face closely, and noted his confused look as he tried again to make sense of that entire episode.

"Thank you, Doctor, and you, Long Tom," Doc said at the conclusion. "Now, what can we do to deal with this? Doctor, would you agree that if we can deny the Master the use of his equipment, it wouldn't stop him, but would severely handicap him?"

"Oh, of course," agreed the Doctor. "It would probably make him change his immediate plans, it would certainly infuriate him, and it would likely prevent him from escaping this area. He'd be off balance and likely to come directly after us instead of teasing us to chase him."

"Can we get back inside?" asked Ham.

"Assuredly," replied the Doctor. "I'm certain the Master would be delighted if we tried. There seem to be active anti-intruder systems just waiting for a chance to attack us."

"Why not just crack the door open and toss in a grenade?" asked Monk.

"It would be safer to try that on an explosives warehouse," assured the Doctor grimly.

"Oh, this surpasses the absolute boundaries of frustration," complained Johnny. "This situation is palpably contradictory. We have an imperative to act with maximum alacrity, while simultaneously we dare not take any action because of a paralyzing fear of the consequences! How are we to formulate an effective response to our current situation? Rather than enumerating the shortcomings in our proposals, have you a recommendation that satisfies the constraints we are presented with?"

"Well spoken," replied the Doctor. "I've been thinking about how to deal with the Master's protective systems, but I don't have a solution yet."

"What a pity the Master didn't land here at the Fair, Doctor," came Leela's sarcastic voice over the communicator. "Maybe then someone would have hauled his TARDIS away like they did with yours."

At this, Doc Savage and the Doctor stopped and looked at each other for a minute. "It couldn't be that simple... could it?" asked Doc.

"You know, I think Leela has something there. Leela, you're a genius! It would still be risky, but I do think it's our best chance! As long as we don't actually try and get inside, or to damage it, the defensive systems just might not react!"

"What are you proposing?" asked Ham in confusion. "What the heck are you two talkin' about?" demanded Monk. This was followed by a rapid babble of excited talk, punctuated by an exasperated sigh from the communicator – "Men!"

Doc quickly called for order. "Having seen your TARDIS, Doctor, could we load it onto a truck?"

"Oh, yes, it's quite possible. The only difficulties we might face are how sensitive his intruder countermeasures are, and of course, whether he's left the parking brake on."

"Right," acknowledged Doc. "We'll have to treat it as if it were full of unstable mercury fulminate. Doctor, Long Tom, you said that the shed was about six by eight feet. It should fit on a flatbed truck. I think we can get a truck with a lift crane on it from Robert Moses37, the Parks Commissioner."

"Speculating that we are successful in our precursory objective to commandeer this structure and secure it onto a mobile platform, what then becomes our subsequent objective? What do we intend to do with it?" asked Johnny.

"I'll settle for gettin' it out'a town, someplace where the Master can't find it. The bottom of an old mine shaft in New Mexico, followed by a few tons o' rock, sounds like a good idea," suggested Monk.

"Points for creativity!" beamed the Doctor, "but I don't think we need go to quite those extremes. Let's start by getting a truck and getting it loaded up. If we make it that far, we can head for some isolated area where it can be hidden."

After a bit of hasty planning and a few phone calls, they all proceeded to Doc's garage. Monk and Long Tom would meet Robert Moses at one of the city's construction sites and pick up a suitable truck and plenty of stout rope and a few tools. Monk would then follow Long Tom to Ditmars Steinway. The rest would proceed directly to the parking lot where the Master's TARDIS was sitting.

In the garage, the group was about to get into their respective vehicles when the Doctor raised a hand and commanded "Wait!" He reached into a pocket and pulled out his sonic screwdriver; K-9, apparently anticipating the Doctor's intent, began swiveling his ears.

"STOP!" ordered Doc, grabbing the Doctor's wrist and holding it with the sonic pointed at the ceiling. "K-9! Discontinue your scan! I think I know what your intent is, Doctor, but please remember what happened the last time you used your device on one of the Master's surprises!"

"Yes, I see your point. I should have thought of that myself!"

Doc and Long Tom conducted a hasty but thorough inspection of the vehicles and quickly located several small devices attached to the fuel tanks, the frames, and inside the passenger compartments. Guided by the Doctor, they carefully and silently removed them. "A tracking device, a listening device, and a small but powerful bomb," identified the Doctor after a full set of three was cleared from each vehicle and locked inside a metal toolbox. "The Master's calling cards. I suppose he's placed them on all of your vehicles."

"We'll have to check the other cars later. I'll stash this in the trunk of one of the other cars and we can get moving."

"Boy, it sure feels good to be doing something instead of just cooling our heels!" enthused Monk as they all set out.

Their trip to the construction site to meet the Parks Commissioner was frustrating, as they had to deal with heavy early evening traffic. On the way, Monk tried to sound out Long Tom regarding their objective.

"So, that gadget of the Doctor's worked? It really led you to the Master's hideout?"

"Yeah, it did."

"What's it like? What are we gonna be dealing with?"

"That, Monk, is a darned good question. I wish I could answer you some way that made sense. Like I told everybody, it's in a parking lot behind a bar and a flophouse, under some trees. It's a shed, about six foot by eight foot, one door, no windows, and a tar paper roof."

"You an' the Doctor got inside, right? What's the Master got in there? Guns? Machines? Bombs? Those skulldriller weapons? What's everyone so blasted afraid of?"

"I don't know!" Long Tom practically wailed, a note of anguish in his voice. "Yeah, we got in! But I can't remember one thing straight about that till after we got out again!"

"Look," he continued after a minute, "when we found the joint, the Doctor and K-9 gave it a once-over. It took them a while to get the door open. I guess K-9 had to figure out some weird combination to get the door to unlock. The Doctor poked at the door and K-9 wiggled his ears at it and had that antenna of his strung up. Then the shed blasted the Doctor with an electrical arc, and K-9 started yammering about the durned thing trying to take him over! I told you guys all this!"

"What – the shed was doing this? Was the Master inside?" Monk interjected.

"Doctor says no. And I guess if we can have metal dogs thinking for themselves, why not garden sheds? This whole thing just gets screwier and screwier!"

"Wow! I'll bet Renny would give his eyeteeth to see that thing! So then what?"

"I made sure the Doctor was OK – I thought for a second we might have lost him – and K-9 got himself straightened out. Then the two of them went in and left me cooling my heels outside. After an hour or so, I got sore and went on in myself. And that's when everything gets danged spooky!"

Long Tom paused for moment to wrap his arms around himself as if he were cold, and shuddered briefly. "There was something wrong with the inside of that shed. That's the only way I can put it. It seemed huge in there, with passageways going off where there couldn't be anywhere for them to go. Dark, but control boards lit up like Christmas Trees, and windows showing the wrong views. I think I had a bizarre dream about the Doctor and K-9 being missing, and pulling some wires out of something, and there was a flash, and I woke up... or came to... Anyway, the Doctor and K-9 were there poking at a big machine in the middle of the room, and K-9 said the place was getting ready to start shooting at us or something, so we scrammed. The Doctor didn't get done what he wanted, but he pulled out some pieces and messed up a few things. And if I never go inside that thing again for the rest of my life, it'll be exactly twenty minutes too soon!"

"Huh. Sounds like one for the books. Maybe th' Master has something in there to drive folks crazy?"

"Well, if he does, and if he spends all his time in there, I guess that would explain a lot! Maybe the Doctor has one, too. That's probably why he's so goofy! Anyway, if we didn't have the Doctor and Doc along on this party, I don't think I'd want to try it."

Monk grinned as he downshifted to turn a corner. "You could be right. On both counts. But think of it this way – if we pull this off, it'll be one to write home about for sure!"

The other group reached their destination with no difficulty, other than a Hupmobile in a hurry running a red light and nearly hitting them. Doc pulled into the parking lot and parked the car along the edge, out of the way.

The parking lot was as the Doctor and Long Tom had described it. One of the cars from earlier in the day was missing, and several additional ones were present. In the deepening twilight, the shed could barely be seen under the trees. The Doctor and K-9 conducted a cautious survey of their target, while Ham and Johnny tried to figure out the best way to get the truck into position and whether they really had a good chance of getting the shed loaded. As they surveyed the situation, Doc again asked the Doctor, "Having seen your TARDIS, do you think we really can get this loaded onto the truck? And will the truck take the load?"

"Yes, I believe so. We can run a heavy rope around it, up under the eaves. With that in place, we can tie ropes to that loop, one at each corner, and run them up to attach to the hoist cable from the truck's lift crane. It doesn't appear to be attached to any sort of anchor or foundation – it's just sitting on the ground."

Doc still looked dubious, but had little choice other than to take the Doctor's word for it. "I just hope it doesn't overbalance and tip the truck."

They kept busy with what preparations they could think of, such as clearing clutter from the alley to make room for the truck. As they finished that chore, Johnny was startled when a hand gripped his right shoulder. "Took you long enough!" came a voice.

"Hello, Pat," said Doc conversationally without looking around, while Johnny, startled, spun around to see Pat Savage, in a black shirt and black jodhpurs, grinning at him. "I suppose you were listening in on the Doctor's communicator while we discussed the location?"

"That I did. I knew it would take a little time for you folks to get organized, and since I was closer, I thought I'd stand watch and make sure the proprietor of this thing didn't come back."

"I assume you didn't see the Master return, or you'd have told us."

"Correct. Unless he arrived before I got here, there's no one home."

"Thank you, Pat, that was well done. I think you'd better leave – we have no way of knowing what's liable to happen when we try and load it."

"So, it's too dangerous for me to be here – but you're not going to try and evacuate the area. Uh-huh."

This discussion showed signs of shaping up into an intense argument, but just then, the sound of a truck engine approaching announced the arrival of Monk and Long Tom. Tom had parked his car on the street and was on foot, guiding Monk into the parking lot – a ticklish proposition, given the narrow alley and the large, double-axle flatbed. More than once, the tight confines came close to knocking off the truck's oversized side mirrors.

Maneuvering the truck into position was made difficult by a Studebaker coupe and a Marmon sedan sitting where the truck needed to be. They dealt with these by putting the cars into neutral and pushing them out of the way. The next obstacle was the presence of the trees near the shed, which kept them from getting the best angle with the crane.

As they worked, a man came out of the apartment building and walked over to a Ford with dented fenders. He was beefy, about 40, and in stained coveralls. The group paused while he ground his starter, but the engine refused to catch. Getting out, he approached Monk, while Doc, not wanting to be recognized, faded into the darkness under the trees. "Hey, buddy! Can you mugs give me a push, see if I can pop the clutch and get this thing running? I don't wanna be late for my shift. What gives here, anyway?"

Monk grinned at the man. "Well, ya know, a few days back, this shed showed up outta the blue? The front office -" he hooked a thumb at Ham, "- messed up the address and it wuz delivered to the wrong place. We're here to take it back. Sure, we can give you a push. Climb into your bus and we'll get you going!" he said cheerfully, ignoring Ham fuming behind him.

"Huh! If that don't beat all! I seen cars get taken back by the bank, but never an old shed!"

With Doc, Monk, Long Tom, and the Doctor pushing, they were able to get the old Model B moving fast enough that the engine did indeed start when the driver popped the clutch. With a wave of thanks, he drove off.

Finally, they had the truck positioned, and the ropes strung – a job that they treated with respectful caution. K-9 had run continuous scans of the 'shed' as they worked, in case the TARDIS's defensive systems decided to take action. Fortunately, the Doctor's prediction that it would not react if they did not try to gain entrance proved to be correct. What would happen when they tried to lift it was anyone's guess.

Since Pat could not be convinced to leave, she was put to work operating the crane. The rest got into position to help steady and guide the shed. Doc and Monk were on opposite corners, the Doctor was on the short-side corner nearest Monk, with Johnny on the remaining corner. Ham and Long Tom were each in the middle of one of the long sides.

Pat gunned the engine, then gingerly engaged the crane's clutch. The slack was taken up, and the shed began to rise. It proved reluctant to break free of the ground, so Monk grabbed a crowbar from the truck and started trying to pry under the edge of the shed. When nothing untoward happened to him, the others quickly joined in, grabbing the sides as best they could and rocking the shed back and forth. After a few minutes, the shed began to lift out of the mud, and the truck started leaning precariously under the unbalanced load on that side.

"Pat!" called Doc Savage, over the noise of the truck's engine. "Don't take it higher yet! Bring it in closer to the truck first! We don't want the truck tipping over!"

With the assembled crew keeping the shed steadied and facing the right direction, Pat slowly telescoped the crane boom back in to draw the shed out from under the trees and over as close to the truck as she could. Now they had to lift it high enough so that it could be swung onto the truck bed. This would mean that the roof would be up against some of the tree branches. The lift commenced, and while most the branches were simply bent out of the way by the shed, a few of the larger limbs were heard to crack – which caused a great deal of apprehension among the crew, as they feared unknown reprisals. Trying to hoist the shed against the resistance of the trees further increased the truck's leaning, and there was genuine dread that the truck might be tipped onto its side. After a few tense minutes, though, they were able to swing the shed over the truck's bed, and it was lowered into place, with the crew rotating it into position so that it didn't hang over the edges. With the shed's weight added, the truck sat noticeably lower on its springs, but apparently it was not too much for the suspension38.

With the shed now loaded, Monk climbed up on the bed to begin unhooking the ropes from the crane. Doc joined him, and they started strapping the shed down to keep it from shifting during transit. Pat and Long Tom started for the front of the truck, followed by K-9. Ham and Johnny started heading for their cars. The Doctor headed for the truck's cab.

Suddenly, with no warning, a red beam, brilliant in the encroaching darkness, lanced out from behind a parked Chevy and struck the front of the truck, ruining the front axle and tires!

"Really, Doctor, attempting to steal my TARDIS? Have you been reduced to common thievery? I'm disappointed in you!" the Master called loudly, a decided sneer in his voice.

"Caught you unawares, did we? You need better booby traps next time!" came the Doctor's grinning reply.

The truck's engine continued to run, but a cloud of steam boiling up from the radiator promised that it wouldn't run for long. With everyone disorganized and confused, the Master straightened up from behind the Chevy, on the side of the truck opposite the trees, and fired a second beam at the Studebaker they had cleared from the area. He must have struck the gas tank – there was an explosion that turned the car into a flaming wreck!

The explosion shot jagged pieces of metal across the parking lot; Long Tom, Ham, and Johnny were struck! Pat also took a glancing blow from a flying bit of metal! Smoke from the explosion, and steam from the truck's radiator blanketed the area, making it difficult to see. As everyone frantically scrambled to bring weapons to bear, the Master began taking advantage of the chaos and confusion among his enemies to start trying to pick off his targets one by one. But by now, resistance was organizing and return fire was starting.

Long Tom, on the right side of the truck, ignored his bleeding side and took cover behind the truck's cab, firing his supermachine pistol across the hood. Johnny, on the left side of the truck, limped to the cover of a nearby Dodge and also used his superfirer to try and keep the Master's head down. The Master did not even bother to hide behind the Chevy; defiantly, he stood there and continued firing his weapon into the swirling smoke and steam. In the apartment building, windows were popping open as people gawked at this strange, hellish combat.

By comparison to Doc's men, who were covered to some extent by a literal 'fog of war', the Master was relatively visible, and he was not moving, but the flickering light and shadow from the burning coupe didn't help improve anyone's aim. Nonetheless, Long Tom and Johnny each hit the Master with several mercy bullets. And the Master simply stood there, laughing at them, his face satanic in the smoke and firelight, as the mercy slugs had no effect. "Is that the best you can do?" he taunted.

"He's using body armor!" called the Doctor.

"Then aim for his head!" cried Ham, holding his left arm tight against his chest as he charged for a Ford on the opposite side of the parking lot to set up a crossfire. The Master triggered a burst from his staser. He grazed Ham across a hip, and the lawyer collapsed, screaming out in pain. Meanwhile, K-9 had moved up to the front end of the truck, and fired his own laser, shooting through the Chevy, and scoring a minor hit. The Master ran from his cover and quickly took up a position behind the Dodge, where Johnny was crouching on the opposite side; this put him closer to the truck and out of K-9's line of fire.

Doc Savage, seeing that the mercy bullets were ineffective, decided that explosive rounds would work to keep the Master too preoccupied to keep firing. He charged around the rear of the truck and sprinted for his car to retrieve a drum. As he passed along the side of the truck, Monk, standing beside the driver's door, grabbed the mount for the oversized truck mirror and wrenched the mirror off of the vehicle.

The Master took aim at Doc. He called "See what happens to your lackeys when you let them forget their proper place, Doctor!" and fired a burst straight at Doc's head! But Monk was already in position, and held the truck's mirror to reflect the beam away from Doc and back toward the Master! "Hah! Try a taste of yer own medicine, dummy!" taunted the chemist. But his hurried aim was not accurate; the destructive ray missed its target and continued on, where it passed through an open window on the apartment building's second floor and started a fire inside!

Doc Savage had not even broken stride. He soon reached his car and grabbed two drums of explosive rounds. He returned to Ham and carried him to shelter behind the Ford he'd been heading for. The damage to Ham's left hip was ugly, but fortunately not very deep. Doc was able to quickly clean it and wrap it. "I'll be fine, Doc!" gritted the lawyer through clenched teeth. "Just get the Master, then we can take our time and deal with things properly! But we've got to stop him taking potshots at us!" Leaving one of the drums of explosive rounds with Ham, Doc told him, "Try these. See if you can take his mind off of shooting at us." With that, Doc sprinted for the Master's original position behind the Chevy.

Seeing the Master move from the Chevy to the nearer Dodge, Pat quickly began extending the crane's boom, shouting, "I got him!" Doc, understanding the Master's plan, roared over the cacophony of the melee, "He's trying to get back inside the shed! Don't let him!" and began firing his explosive rounds, in single-shot mode, leaving a string of small craters between the Dodge and the truck. Ham immediately did likewise, and this did indeed divert the Master's attention away from further attacks.

While this was happening, the Doctor was busy with his injured allies. Obscured by the smoke and steam, he was able to move everyone into shelter and begin applying bandages to stop blood loss. He treated Ham with the same salve and pills he had used on Doc's wounds from K-9's laser. In Johnny's case, a tourniquet was necessary. Pat's injuries were mild enough to ignore for now.

By now, Pat had the crane at the full extent of its travel. She was unable to grip the Dodge, but just as the truck's engine finally died, she managed to simply use the end of the boom to tip the car over onto the furiously screaming Master! Just then, there was an explosive 'Whoooosh!' from the apartment building as the small fire started by the reflected laser ignited someone's gas stove!

"K-9!" roared Doc over the din. "Guard the door to the shed! Let no one in! Pat! Keep an eye on the Master! Everyone who's capable, follow me! We have to get those people out of there!" 'Everyone' proved to be Doc, the Doctor, Monk, and Long Tom. K-9 took up a guard position at the truck. Doc passed off his gun to Pat. Ham and Johnny, who were mostly immobile, managed to reach vantage points where they could also keep an eye on the overturned Dodge.

Doc and the others charged into the flaming building, which was rapidly becoming an inferno, fed by inflammables and the gas main. They spread out, working their way methodically to get everyone out the front doors of the building, away from the war zone in the rear parking lot.

While they were clearing the second floor, the police arrived, along with the fire department. The Doctor used the simple expedient of unrolling his multicolored scarf and using it to lower a young girl from a second floor window into the arms of a waiting fireman. Monk's long arms were useful in reaching people trapped under collapsed wreckage. A squad of firemen, and some of the police, also entered the burning building to clear the residents. Patrons of the nearby bar also arrived to see what the ruckus was about, and joined in the rescue efforts. A young man named Bobbie MaGee managed to extract no fewer than four residents who had been pinned in collapsed, burning beams.

More firemen began setting up hoses connected to fire hydrants and a pumper truck, and bringing up ladders. Another small group of firemen with Indian tanks39 charged into the parking lot and began putting out the burning Studebaker and hosing down the ruined truck. Some of the firemen and some of the police began arguing over whether Ham and Johnny should be taken to the hospital or the police station, with Ham arguing vociferously that the Skulldriller Killer was trapped under the overturned car. Pat, not wanting to be dragged away before everything was solidly under control, hid herself behind the Marmon sedan they had moved out of the way. On the truck's flatbed, K-9 simply shut off his lights and stopped moving.

With the additional help, the residents were soon vacated. There were burns, of course, and an assortment of cuts, bruises, lacerations, and other miscellaneous wounds and injuries. Some people who had jumped from their windows had sprains or broken bones. Doc had managed to get into the basement and shut off the gas main, and Long Tom had killed the electrical feed, to keep damaged wiring from sparking more fires. Thanks to the quick response, the blaze was quickly brought under control before the entire building was engulfed. About half of the second floor was gutted, but at least the third floor didn't seem to be in imminent danger of collapsing, and the ground floor was relatively unscathed.

By this time, ambulances had shown up, and the more seriously wounded were being packed off to the hospital; less critical cases were being treated on the spot and released. Police were helping the medics and the ambulance crews load up patients for transport, including Johnny and Ham. Ham resisted, loudly and stridently. "Don't worry about us!" he shouted at the policeman trying to get him onto a stretcher. "We have the Skulldriller Killer trapped here! He's underneath that car! Get him! Handcuff him and lock him up!"

"Regain your equanimity, Ham," said Johnny, woozy from his injuries. "Your protestations were heard at your initial proclamation. Their priorities are directed towards immediate alleviation of the medical needs of other victims of this conflagration." In fact, the police had heard Ham's pleas, but may have thought he was being incoherent. In any event, the firefighters and ambulance attendants did continue to work on caring for the other wounded and making sure there were no further outbreaks. Reporters and news photographers were beginning to arrive at the scene. When they heard Ham claiming that the Skulldriller had been run to earth, they charged into the parking lot, and added to the confused throng of firefighters, displaced residents, volunteers from the bar, and onlookers that the police were finding it increasingly difficult to control.

On the third floor of the flophouse, Doc Savage, his shirt shredded from crawling through the wreckage of the building, stood beside the Doctor. The immediate danger to the residents seemed to be past. They had located the Master's base of operations, and had come face-to-face with him in combat and survived. Now the pressing question was whether they could secure their apparent tactical advantage.

Turning to the Doctor, Doc said, "We can't let anyone get too interested in that shed. And we need to make sure we have the Master thoroughly secured. I'm going to go down and do what I can to get him bundled up. You should probably lay low here and keep an eye on that TARDIS. Do you think handcuffs and a locked cell are good enough to start with on the Master?"

"That'll help," agreed the Doctor. "Also take all of his clothes and absolutely everything he's carrying. Search his hair. If possible, allow no one at all to speak to him. The trick will be to disperse the onlookers and get them away from him. Having a crowd around like that only works in his favor. If you can lure the circus out of town, so much the better."

Doc quickly descended to the parking lot, where he was soon recognized by reporters and police alike. Amidst the clamor, he heard a familiar voice calling, "Doc! DOC! Over here!" It was Diane Johnston, waving and holding her camera, with Biff Merten beside her. She snapped a quick picture as Doc began making his way over to her. Pitching his voice to be heard above the din, Doc called, "EVERYONE! Please step back and let the authorities do their job! There is still danger here! Step back for your own safety!"

Just then, another police car arrived, with Detective Humboldt and a few of his officers. These quickly surrounded Doc. "Aw'right, Savage. We're gonna head down to the precinct and get all of this straightened out right now!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Doc noticed a bit of color – the Doctor's scarf – moving into position behind the ruined flatbed. He also spotted Monk and Long Tom taking up unobtrusive positions nearby. Much though he wanted to personally ensure that the Master was taken into secure custody, he would have to play his part to get all of these people away from the risk of further violence, and trust that the Doctor, K-9, and his friends would be sufficient to the job. He hoped Pat still had some of the explosive rounds left in her supermachine pistol.

"Hey, Humboldt!" called Merten. "You arrestin' Savage? What's the charge?" At this, several more flashbulbs went off.

"Merten?! Who the devil let you back into this burg?" replied Humboldt. "Nah, we ain't arrestin' him. Just got some questions we gotta get clear on."

"You seem in an awful hurry to get out of here," observed Diane. "I'd think if I maybe had the Skulldriller Killer pinned down, I'd want to dig him out and invite him along to the party, too. Unless you're afraid he'll ventilate you, too! That's if he isn't dead by now."

By now, the injured people had been dealt with, and the firefighters had started work on the overturned Dodge. "Mahoney! Jackson! Lend 'em a hand!" called Humboldt to two of his men, glaring at Diane and then returning his attention to Doc Savage. Doc groaned inwardly as many of the reporters rushed over close to the car, quickly replacing their flashbulbs.

With many people working together, the car was soon tipped back over onto its wheels. As soon as the man trapped beneath the car was visible, flashbulbs began popping. But Doc's eyes widened as he realized that, although the figure on the ground was wearing the Master's clothes, that was not the Master!

XVI. The Treachery

Doc had studied the first pictures that Diane had taken of the Master, and had seen him, albeit sketchily, during the combat, but this was sufficient for him to be certain that this was a different man. Diane also seemed to share his opinion. "Biff! That's not him!" she called to her companion. "You sure, doll?" he asked.

Everyone else present, however, seemed to take it as a certainty that this was their target. This, however, did not last long, as one of the firemen who had helped right the car exclaimed, "Hey! That's Georgie! He's part of my crew! How the devil did he get under there, dressed like that?"

This loud proclamation triggered a reaction like kicking an anthill. People rushed over to the figure lying there, resulting in mass confusion and a deafening babble. Eventually, the police were able to hold the onlookers back, and it was quickly determined that the man was dead. The fireman who had started the ruckus was allowed to examine the corpse more closely, and reaffirmed that it was indeed his squadmate Georgie Patroukos. Others from his truck confirmed the identification.

The Doctor, suspecting that this was a distraction to divert attention while the Master regained his TARDIS, slipped up onto the flatbed. He had kept a close watch on the shed throughout all of this, and had seen no one approach it; the door was still sealed as he had left it, but that was hardly conclusive. "K-9?" he said softly. "Has anyone – or anything – entered the Master's TARDIS?" There was no answer.

The Doctor quickly knelt down beside the small robot and examined it. K-9 was not being unobtrusive; he was completely powered down. The Doctor rebooted him. "Master," K-9 said as he came on-line.

"Softly, K-9. And switch off your lights. The fewer people who notice you, the better. What happened? Why were you switched off?"

"Reviewing logs," K-9 said quietly as he went dark. "Remote shutdown sequence received. Apparently transmitted by enemy's sonic multitool. Apologies, Master. Locking out that channel."

Pat, unobtrusive in her dark clothing, ghosted up beside the Doctor. "I tried to keep an eye on that shed constantly during the hubbub, since all of you put so much emphasis on securing it. I didn't see anyone get near it. Although I'm starting to suspect that may not mean a lot given what the Master seems to be able to do."

"Yes, you're quite right. And thank you, that was well done," said the Doctor, as he and Pat slipped back down behind the ruined truck. "K-9. Passive scans only. Watch for any transmissions from this TARDIS, or any sign of increased power output. Remain dark."

"Affirmative."

From their positions skulking behind the Marmon, Monk and Long Tom watched as Humboldt bundled Doc into a police car, with Diane frantically grabbing a few last shots of the war zone in the parking lot, making sure to get the truck, the burned out Studebaker, the Chevy and Dodge, and the apartment building, before she grabbed Biff Merten by the wrist and ran for their car, taking off after Humboldt.

"Well, that could have gone better," observed Long Tom. "I guess it wasn't a total loss."

"Yeah," Monk replied. "We still got that danged shed, but that Skulldriller Master guy took a powder. Neat trick, that. I guess everybody was right. He seems to be pretty mad that we tried to nab it. Wonder where he ran off to?"

"I don't know, but if he's not here, that's fine with me! Maybe if we can get the shed somewhere else, this won't be wasted effort."

"How? That truck ain't going nowhere without a week's work in a shop!"

"Not under its own power. I ain't moving too fast; you're still mostly intact. Here's my keys. Go round up a tow truck. We'll see if we can drag the dang thing somewhere. I'll stick here and keep an eye on things. I'll keep my radio on, but if you call me, keep it down. I sure hope this crowd clears out; maybe now that the cops took Doc, they'll chase that action."

"Good luck with that. It looks like those blamed cops are gonna take statements from everybody that was here!"

In the nearby bar, business was sparse; most of the patrons were still out gawking at the excitement in the parking lot. In a dark corner far from the door, a shadowed figure stirred painfully, just another weary fireman after a tough and dangerous job. In his stolen fireman's garb, the Master concentrated on dealing with his most immediately serious injuries and filing away Pat Savage's face in his memory for particular, individual attention.

He withdrew a small device from his pocket and examined its readout carefully. Let them have their little victory, he thought. It will do them no good. They probably think they'll be able to make off with my TARDIS and hide it from me. Let them try! We'll see who will have the last laugh, when I spring my surprise. And I will savor the look on Savage's face, and wipe that smirk off of the Doctor's face.

'Hardboiled' Humboldt was in a palpably foul mood, even for him. His impromptu plan had started all right – he would interrogate Doc Savage and work up a pretext to get him into a cell, and try to keep him there long enough for the police to get their jobs done without interference from amateur glory hounds. But they had been followed back to the precinct by most of those ink-slinging nosies, who were slobbering around outside waiting for something about Savage that they could print in their rags. Well, let 'em cool their heels. He'd get Savage locked up, and they could whistle for their stories!

Except that one of them – that pushy dame from D.C. – had managed to get inside, shepherded by that damn ex-cop Merten, who still knew a few guys that could tolerate him. Even worse, they were in the observation room with Humboldt's man Shoreham, "to get a statement from him". Shoreham was keeping an eye on Humboldt's session with Savage. Shoreham had been in Astoria – he should'a known better, and Humboldt planned to read him the riot act later. The police took statements from creeps, they didn't give statements to creeps!

Having them watching put a damper on how hard Humboldt could lean, but it was too late to throw them out now. He'd have to string things along till they left – unless he could find some way to bounce them out? Maybe he could book Savage as a material witness? Or maybe for withholding evidence and contributing to the injuries and deaths of police officers and interfering with an investigation, at least temporarily? Once in a cell, well, accidents could always happen, even to people like Doc Savage. With Savage out of the picture, he and his men could wrap up this Skulldriller Killer business, and ...

Humboldt's mind grew confused and hazy as he tried to remember the plan past that point. He had a first-class headache fixing to split his head, and he resumed taking his frustrations out on Doc Savage.

"What the devil were you up to, pretending to have the Skulldriller there? Trying to lead the cops down the primrose path – again? You like making us all look like fools, huh? Lemme tell you, there was no Skulldriller there, but somethin' sure as shooting was blowing up cars, starting fires, and drilling holes in stuff. Maybe it was you! Maybe you're the Skulldriller Killer, or Master, or whatever you want to call yourself!"

Humboldt was dimly aware that he was ranting and nearly incoherent, and that a reporter could see and hear him, but he was just about beyond caring, and his head was throbbing fit to kill him. He closed his eyes to try and clear his mind, but when he did, his mind's eye could see only a pair of dark eyes, drilling into his soul. He decided to have Shoreham start the process of transferring Doc Savage to holding, even if there was a reporter watching. What could she do about it? Tell that pet lawyer of Savage's, so he could start pulling strings? Well, Brooks was in the hospital, too, and not likely to be stirring up trouble for a while. Merten? That washed up rat might need someone to convince him to not make any waves, and there were still some cops around that probably wouldn't mind helping.

For his part, Doc Savage remained silent, content to let the detective bellow at him. It was buying time for his friends to take action, out of the spotlight. He would have to trust them. He was worried about them, particularly Ham and Johnny. And Renny. This business was certainly racking up a toll of injuries on them. Thank goodness none of them had accumulated any permanent damage – so far. Doc knew it had been necessary to divert attention from the parking lot and the shed, and to lure people away from the area, but he still felt guilty about leaving his friends to face the danger there without him. He consoled himself that they had the Doctor and K-9 there, and thought about how soon he might be able to make his exit here.

By now, the remaining reporters had mostly left and the parking lot in Astoria was quiet. Once the police started questioning everyone, many of the bystanders departed. And then it started raining in earnest, and for once the watchers in the shadows were glad of it. Long Tom and Pat crawled under the disabled truck for shelter as well as to avoid notice, and watched the rain drive away almost all of the remaining onlookers. They were soon joined by the Doctor.

"Doesn't K-9 need to get out of the rain?" asked Long Tom. "Oh, he'll be fine," came the reply.

"I sent Monk out to bring back a tow truck. With any luck, we can haul this wreck out of here. Where do we want to take it?"

"An excellent question. Have you a place away from large numbers of people, where it can be stored under tight security, possibly not too far away? If anything happens, we may need to get to it in a hurry."

"I might know a place," replied Long Tom slowly, thinking furiously.

Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of a large engine, as Monk drove in with a tow truck. Then Monk, Long Tom, and the Doctor got soaked by the rain as they worked in the soggy darkness to get their ruined flatbed hooked up to the wrecker. First, they had to drag the burned-out Studebaker out of the way, and that was a messy chore. Pat and K-9 stood watch on the flatbed, near the shed's door. It may have been uncomfortable work, but the rain did keep the group's efforts relatively unobserved. If anyone saw them working, they didn't interfere.

With the flatbed hooked up to the wrecker, they feared for a minute that the winch would be unable to lift the truck's damaged front end. Everyone was bone tired by now, and they were quite relieved when the front wheels came up off the ground. Maneuvering this conga line out of the parking lot and onto the streets was yet another nightmare. Long Tom drove the tow truck. Monk and the Doctor, as the two least damaged in case of another attack, rode in the flatbed's cab, with K-9 still holding position by the shed. Pat, driving Doc's car, brought up the rear. Everyone had their communicators switched on.

At last, they were moving, if a bit slowly, due to the ungainly nature of their vehicles and the slick, wet roadways. It was quite late by now, and traffic was mercifully light as they headed along Astoria parkway, down 21st Street, where they could pick up the Queensboro Bridge across the East River to Manhattan on their way west toward the Hudson. As they crossed over Welfare Island in the middle of the river, the Doctor had Long Tom stop near a dock for the Astoria Ferry. He spent a few minutes wandering around in the wet darkness, looking at freight rail cars waiting to be loaded onto ferries for conveyance to the mainland, then hurried back to the tow truck. "What was that ..." Long Tom began, before the Doctor silenced him, interrupting with "Not now; I'll explain later." They resumed their progress westward to Manhattan.

After processing, Doc Savage had been transferred to a holding cell. His clothes and all of his effects had been taken, and he had been given a nondescript coverall, though it had been difficult for the police to find one large enough for him. When Diane heard Shoreham get the order to start the transfer, she nearly exploded. Biff quickly took her arm and silently shook his head 'No'. "I think you got enough stuff now for your paper, Doll. Shoreham, you got work to do, so we'll just say goodbye." And he escorted the reporter out.

Once they were out of the room, Diane hissed at Biff. "You're just going to let them lock up Doc Savage?"

"Yep. There's a right way and a wrong way to handle this, darlin'. Let's try it my way."

On the way out, Biff steered them to the Chief's office. "Sir? We're heading out, wanted to thank you for your hospitality. Anyway, you're probably gonna be pretty busy in a minute, once the rest o' the newshounds out there get word that you just locked up Doc Savage." The Chief's eyes widened as Biff continued, "An' Diane here has to go develop the photos she took back there at the fire, and get her story filed before they go to press."

Ignoring the rest of the journalists clustered around as they left, Biff and Diane made their way to the hospital to look in on Johnny and Ham. It was quite late, and they were unable to visit the patients, but their respective credentials did convince the doctors to admit that Johnny had been patched up and given blood, and would probably be discharged tomorrow, and that Ham was in stable condition despite the nasty injury to his hip; the doctors were pessimistic about what sort of recovery he would make.

Meanwhile, down in the holding cells, a policeman brought a tray in for Doc, with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Sitting with his back to the cell door, Doc quickly disposed of the food. A few minutes later, he stood up, swayed dizzily, and collapsed on his bunk with a crash, sending the tray flying!

There was utter silence for several minutes. Then the cell door opened, and Detective Humboldt entered, alone. He stood briefly, staring at the inert form of Doc Savage laying there. Then he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small case. He opened the case to reveal a large hypodermic syringe. He attached the steel needle to the barrel of the syringe and drew back the plunger, filling the cylinder with air. Stepping up next to Doc, he found his target. Humboldt was no doctor, but he knew enough to locate the carotid artery, which carried blood to the brain. A large bubble of air injected there, even if did not kill Doc Savage, could easily starve his brain of blood – and oxygen! The tip of the needle pierced the skin over the artery!

XVII. The Pursuit

As the needle full of air punctured the skin of Doc Savage's neck, it was as if it had been carrying high-tension current! Instantly, Doc sprang to his feet, and with one punch, knocked Humboldt flat on the floor, unconscious! Without moving, he addressed the other figure, now standing in the opened cell door, who had entered just as Humboldt had started inserting the syringe. "Good evening, Chief. My apologies for assaulting one of your men. I trust his actions were not sanctioned by the force?"

It took the police chief a few moments to process what he had just seen. "Good evening to you as well, Dr. Savage. No, I assure you that Humboldt's actions were not sanctioned by the New York Police Department. Since I suspect Mr. Humboldt will not be able to speak for himself for a while, could I ask you to explain what is happening here?"

"Sir, I will begin by saying that I do not believe that this man was responsible for his actions here. The detective's dislike for me personally is well known, but that is his prerogative, and his attitude is understandable. However, he has to my knowledge never stepped over the line and seriously abused his authority; he treats suspects roughly but fairly. He displays a bitter, antagonistic attitude to alleviate his stress. Recently, however, it would appear that he has been contacted by the man calling himself 'The Master', who the newspapers have christened 'the Skulldriller Killer'.

"I have reason to believe that the Master, which is apparently what he calls himself, is accomplished in manipulating people and skilled in hypnosis and other similar techniques. His twisted mind probably took pleasure at the thought of turning the police against my team and me, letting us waste our efforts in conflict rather than working to apprehend him.

"When I learned this and saw the detective's animosity toward me increasing, I wondered if perhaps the Master was behind it. I decided to give Humboldt an opportunity to act, and see what happened. Questioning me following the incident in Astoria was reasonable, but many of his other actions were not. Placing me in holding and confiscating my effects were not standard procedure if his purpose was what he claimed.

"And delivering food and drink at this late hour was also decidedly abnormal. I think if you analyze the residue in that cup, you'll find it was drugged. Naturally, I did not actually eat or drink anything. Once Humboldt thought I was unconscious, he followed his conditioning and made his move. His syringe was full of air, intended for my carotid artery, which would have killed or incapacitated me, quite possibly damaging my brain. I had to let him proceed far enough to confirm that he really intended to go through with it. The Master would guarantee that the word got out that I had been deliberately injured by the police. With that one attack, he hoped to remove me as an opponent and create mass confusion and chaos among the police and civil authorities. This would leave him with a clear field for his schemes.

"I would like to ask that Detective Humboldt be treated with understanding and compassion, and that he receive medical care. He is yet another victim, a casualty of this affair along with so many others. He has been injured in the line of duty, and I hope to be able to contribute to his recovery."

"You know," remarked the Chief, "I don't know why you keep Ham Brooks around – you make a very convincing case. I've been talking to the officers and some of the firefighters who were there in Astoria. I don't suppose they can all have been drunk, so it looks like I have to take their reports as factual. And some of the reporters are sure to have pictures. So, whatever it is that the Skulldriller – the Master – uses can drill straight through a car as easily as a man's head?"

"Yes, Sir. But I can tell you this – as a direct result of that incident, I believe we are now in a position to lay a trap for the Master. We have something of his, something that he wants very, very badly."

The two men conferred for a while. Then Doc reclaimed his clothes and belongings and was released. Out on the dark street, in the soft drizzle of rain, He caught a cab. "Where to, Mac?" "The Empire State Building, Mr. Shrevnitz," directed Doc, reading the cabbie's name from the card on the back of the front seat. It was quite late, and he wanted to get some sleep and check in with his team via the Doctor's communicators, as well as make some preparations for tomorrow.

Once in his headquarters, Doc wasted no time in calling Monk. "Yeah, Doc, we're all OK. There do seem to be a lot of fleas running around, though." This was Monk's way of telling Doc where they were, in case the Master was once again eavesdropping on them. "The cargo has been dealt with."

"I'm glad to hear that, Monk. Tell everyone 'Good Work'. I'll see you when I see you." Doc showered and picked up a clean shirt, then used the flea run to rendezvous with the others at the Hildalgo Trading Company warehouse. After relieved greetings all around, Doc explained how the brainwashed Detective Humboldt had attempted to incapacitate him; this account left Monk, Pat, and Long Tom horrified. "Yes, this seems in perfect keeping with the Master's modus operandi," observed the Doctor, "but with proper care, the Detective ought to make a good recovery."

The others described their departure from Astoria with the damaged truck and their hard-won prize. "What were those stops along the way for, Doctor?" asked Pat. "On the way over here, Doc, we made a quick stop at a rail dock for the Astoria Ferry on Welfare Island, and another stop at the High Line rail junction in Hudson Yards, just north of here. So what were those for?" she asked the Doctor curiously.

"Oh, just another move in the chess game," replied the Doctor offhandedly. "The Master believes he's outsmarted us, so I arranged a little surprise or two for him," he said with a grin.

After some discussion of plans for tomorrow's activities and a few phone calls, they settled down to get what rest they could in the primitive comforts of the warehouse. Monk bunked down in one of Doc's large seaplanes, Pat was set up in the office, and Doc and Long Tom found their own places to bed down. The Doctor and K-9 stood guard, K-9 once again on the bed of the damaged truck, close to the disguised TARDIS.

The still night air was split by the roar of a supercharged engine as the Master made his way southwest with as much speed as the road conditions would support. A cold smile gave his face a demonic cast in the dim glow of the instrument lights of the 1936 Duesenberg SJ he had appropriated. From time to time, he glanced down at the small box on the seat beside him as he thundered along, roughly paralleling a set of railroad tracks heading more or less toward Trenton, or perhaps even Philadelphia or Wilmington.

Doctor, you disappoint me! he thought to himself. Despite multiple incidents, you never suspected that I would place a tracker on my own TARDIS! He sneered to himself as he thought this. You and your friends are so pleased with yourselves! So little imagination!

After a few more hours of driving, he was approaching Philadelphia, having left Trenton in his rear view mirror some time ago. Although his vehicle had a quite substantial top speed, he was at the mercy of other traffic and the wretched condition of these so-called 'carriageways', and was also constrained to follow the progress of the train carrying his TARDIS. He could easily have overtaken the train, but after due consideration decided that it was not worth risking injury and possible regeneration trying to transfer to it while traveling at speed. These stupid anthropoids had not even developed autopilots and collision avoidance systems yet! Better to wait for the train to stop, and then make his move.

At last, his receiver showed the train slowing down, presumably stopping at a rail yard to decouple cars bound for this area and pick up others continuing southbound. Finding the rail yard, he drove around until his display showed that he was near his tracker chip. Parking the car, he picked up his device and went on foot from there. Locating the boxcar from which the signal was coming, he made short work of the lock with his own screwdriver and climbed up and switched on a small pocket torch.

The car was empty!

Scanning the interior with his light, he caught a reflected gleam of light midway up the far wall. Approaching, he found his tracker chip, stuck to the boxcar side with cello tape. He tore it off and placed it in his pocket. Although furious, he felt slightly relieved at this – he did so hate wasting his time with opponents who were complete idiots! Perhaps the Doctor was worth all the effort the Master was devoting to him after all!

As he turned to leave, a bright light abruptly shone into his face from the open boxcar door. "Aw'right, bud, this ain't no Pullman! You wanna ride, you go buy a ticket!" It was a railroad bull, flashlight in one hand, revolver in the other, figuring the Master as just another 'gentleman of the road'. "Hit the bricks, or do I give ya the bum's rush?"

A smile of cold delight slowly crossed the Master's face as he palmed a small weapon and raised his hands above his head, a smile that was thoroughly contradicted by the look in his eyes. Just the thing he needed to soothe his nerves, he thought, triggering his Tissue Compression Eliminator. It was always so amusing to see the looks frozen onto his victims faces as they were killed by the process of being shrunken down to doll size!

Returning to his car, he entertained himself with the thought that he might not have recovered his TARDIS, but after all, it would be much more satisfying to have the Doctor imagining that he had bested the Master, only to have the tables turned once again. He picked up his tracker and shifted channels to display the readout from the other tracking chip he had left on the 'shed'. As he suspected, this first one had been a red herring, intended to lure him in the wrong direction. The TARDIS, according to the display, was well on its way west-northwest, headed vaguely in the direction of Niagara Falls!

Well, it would take some time, but he would certainly catch up to his missing vehicle. Unless he wanted to appropriate an aircraft, for greater speed? Tempting, very tempting, but far less flexible than an automobile if there were any unanticipated changes in plans, and the aircraft of this ludicrous 'civilization' were even more hazard-prone than the ground cars! Pity he hadn't invested the time and effort to set up a TransMat40 network. Perhaps next time, he thought as he slipped the unsynchronized transmission into first gear and let out the clutch.

This time, he was not forced to follow the pace of a train, and there was virtually no traffic in the late night / very early morning hours; he was able to let the car out and make much better time. The quality of the road and occasional encounters with wildlife or other drivers were his major limitations on speed. He arrived at his destination in northwest New York State in only a little over five hours, and had only had to briefly slow down once to laser a pursuing motorcycle policeman.

By now, the sun had been up for well over an hour. Once again, his receiver allowed him to locate a train yard, then a train, then a particular freight car. Once again, he gained entrance to the car, determinedly ignoring the cries and challenges from approaching railyard personnel.

And once again, he was thwarted.

His tracker led him through a jumble of boxes and crates to the far corner of the car, where he found a small manila envelope taped to a crate. Inside was his alternate tracking chip, along with a tiny device, a small candy, and a handwritten note – "My Dear Fellow – are you quite sure you're still fit for this? You really are becoming most predictable! Have a Jelly Baby, and better luck in future!" As he read the note, the small device began playing an incongruous, cheery tune – the Boswell Sisters' bright performance of Al Dubin and Harry Warren's 1933 hit song, "Shuffle Off to Buffalo", with full orchestra accompaniment.

The constant four-count drumbeat in the Master's mind reached a new crescendo, and his left eye began twitching uncontrollably as he ground the music player underfoot and stalked back out of the freight car. Without a word, he used his staser to kill the angry men rushing toward him, and returned to his commandeered Duesenberg.

He had only progressed about a hundred feet when the vehicle ran out of gas.

Getting out, he incinerated the vehicle with his laser, then turned and used it to set fire to the rail yard, and set out to locate the nearest airfield.

XVIII. The Plan

In a cluttered storeroom in the British Pavilion at the World's Fair (in one sense), yet in a completely different space (in quite another sense), Leela's mood could have easily matched the Master's murderous frame of mind. This was now the third day of her confinement to the TARDIS, and she had long ago exhausted the entertainment value of knife throwing. Fortunately for the TARDIS interior walls, her black mood was interrupted by a series of soft musical tones from the medical unit tending to Renny.

Desperately hoping for a reprieve from her involuntary inactivity, she ran to the machine to see Renny blinking his eyes open. Opening the lid, she felt Renny's forehead, checked his pulse, and peeled back an eyelid on the startled and confused engineer, confirming with her own senses what the advanced medical systems were reporting on their displays. She also carefully checked Renny's right hand. Apart from a few scars in the tanned skin, it seemed intact.

"Leela?" Renny seemed puzzled, almost frightened by the strange circumstances. "Where the deuce am I? What happened? Is everyone OK?"

"What happened is that you were holding one of the Master's bombs when it went off. You're in the Doctor's TARDIS. We had to rush you here for medical treatment. Everyone else is fine, but it's been three days now and the others are all pursuing the Master. I for one would like to join them," Leela scowled angrily. "Do you feel well enough to get up?"

Renny considered this for a moment. "I was holding a bomb when it went off?" he asked, trying to get his memories into gear. He looked at both hands and flexed his fingers, then stretched and wiggled his arms and legs as if to reassure himself that everything was still there. This led him to notice that his current state of attire would be considered scandalously scanty even at the beach. He sat bolt upright and began scrambling to try and climb out of the cabinet. "Holy Cow!" was all he said, blushing furiously.

"Calm down!" she said. "You don't need to panic. Take things slowly at first. Here, let me help you up." She began uncoupling him from miscellaneous tubes and connections.

"I think I can get out on my own. Would you mind stepping out for a while?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Stop acting like a baby! What are you frightened of? Let's get you out of there. I have fresh clothes for you, and I'm sure you're hungry. The sooner we get you dressed and fed, the sooner we can join the hunt! Don't you want to help track down the Master? He nearly killed you, you know!"

At the mention of food, Renny's attention was diverted from his embarrassment. He allowed Leela to help him out of the medical cabinet, but insisted that she turn her back while he dressed. Leela averted her eyes, but took out one of the Doctor's communicators and held it so that she could observe Renny's reflection in its polished surface. (Purely out of caution, of course, lest he inadvertently tamper with something he shouldn't. Obviously.) "Doctor?" she called, "Renny has woken up. He seems to be intact, but I wonder if his head was injured. He's getting dressed, and then we'll get breakfast. Let the others know. What do you want us to do?"

"Oh, that's splendid news, Leela! Thank you for watching over him! I'm with the others now – we'll have someone come pick you up by those gardens near the Pavilion. We're working out a way to try and trap the Master, and you and Renny will be most welcome!"

While Renny dressed, he couldn't help looking around the room, and his puzzlement only increased at the bizarre technological odds and ends furnishing it. As he finished tying his shoes, he asked, "So, this thing I was in," he gestured at the medical unit, "you said this was a – TARDIS, did you call it? What is it? What does it do?"

Leela smiled, "No, silly, everything here is the TARDIS," she gestured, swinging her arm widely to encompass everything. "That's just an automatic medical care unit. It fixed you up and kept you from dying."

"What? This thing? It fixed me up – by itself?"

"More or less, yes. You had been badly hurt by that bomb; now you should be fine."

"Well, I'll be." said Renny, his eyes wide, staring at the machine. "Does Doc know about this?"

"He helped bring you here. Now let's go eat, we need to meet up with the rest of your team."

Following the excitement surrounding the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion, Professor Einstein had spent a few days relaxing at home and reassuring his wife that he was in fact unharmed. They had spent time discussing the effect that Great Britain's white paper on Palestine was likely to have on the Middle East, and whether the violence at the dedication meant that fascism and antisemitism were spreading from Europe into America. Troubled, Einstein had spent some time sailing his boat out on Long Island and considering what he should do. That morning, he decided to return to the Fair and visit the British Pavilion. Perhaps he could find an official of their government to whom he could speak. And it would give him another opportunity to visit the fascinating 'Haifa Diorama', which depicted via clever optics the transformation of Emek Jezreel, the 'Bedouin Valley of Death', into modern Palestine's fertile land. It was a display that Einstein found captivating, and hopeful.

Wandering through the British Pavilion, Einstein tried to find a sympathetic ear, but despite the staff's attempts to direct him to a suitable representative, he soon became turned around, meandering almost aimlessly through the building. Eventually, he found himself in an unmarked corridor near the rear of the building, as a side door opened and a worker emerged, carrying a few cases of various printed items extoling the wonders of the British Isles. Einstein paused to glance through the door to see if this was perhaps the office he was looking for.

No, it was merely a storeroom. As he watched, a door opened in a strange blue wooden box standing near the door to the corridor; a man and a woman walked out. From his vantage point, the physicist had a perfect view of the vast space of the TARDIS control room. "Hmm. Finally, someone truly understands the Relativity!" muttered Einstein under his breath, and walked on.

Renny, upon exiting the TARDIS, stopped, turned around, and spent a minute simply staring in silence at the small, simple blue box, then walked around to each side, staring at it and then cautiously touching it. He slowly turned his head toward Leela, his jaw hanging open slackly. "Yes, yes, you get used to it after a while. Now let's go – we don't want to keep the others waiting," she said impatiently. "Yeah," he said grimly, slowly clenching and unclenching his huge right fist. "Yeah, I'd kinda like a chance to meet up with this 'Master'".

Out at the 'Gardens on Parade' exhibit, the pair only had to wait a few minutes before a car pulled up, driven by Monk. "Hey! Renny! You look great! Lots better'n the last time I saw ya!" Monk called cheerfully as the two climbed into the back seat. "Let's go! We're holed up in Hidalgo for a powwow!"

On the way, Renny asked, "The last thing I remember was picking up that durn disk. And a lotta pain. What's been going on?"

"Well, lessee – that was Monday the 29th, the day after Doc introduced Einstein. This is Wednesday the 31st. Them nasty little disks of the Master's turned out to be some kinda gizmos he could eavesdrop on us with, and also set off like hand grenades. And don't ask me how he fit all that in there, it's giving Long Tom the screaming meemies."

At this, Renny started to protest, but then thought back to his awakening, in a huge place with many large rooms, corridors, and staircases, all tucked into a small blue box, and decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Anyway, he didn't just about blow you to smithereens with that thing – the blasted so-and-so set 'em all off! Some of 'em were in police headquarters, and some was still with some'a those crooks that jumped you guys out in front of HQ. Bunch'a cops and folks got hurt or killed. The cops ain't happy, and Humboldt is not only on the warpath, he's gone off the rails and tried to kill Doc! Right there in the police station!"

As they drove, Monk filled the stunned engineer in on everything that had happened and brought him up to date. Leela also handed Renny one of the miniature communicators and explained how to use it.

"Wait – this shed the Master was using. It has all his stuff in it, his tools and gizmos," he asked Monk.

"Yep."

"And that place where you and the Doctor put me back together – that's basically the Doctor's version of the Master's shed." This, to Leela.

"Yes," she replied simply.

"I may join Long Tom in a fit of the screaming meemies myself. And we stole that shed!"

"Yep, 'it wuz a rough fight, Ma, but we won'!" crowed Monk, with a huge grin nearly splitting his homely face. His mind whirling, Renny spent the rest of the ride in silence, except for a few times where he had to ask Monk to repeat himself – he was having difficulty taking it all in so quickly. He asked Monk to give him a thorough account of the injuries he had received from the Master's bomb. The chemist was reluctant, but Renny was insistent.

When they arrived at the warehouse, they were greeted by Doc, Long Tom, and K-9. "Renny! You're OK!" yelled the electrician, rushing over and exuberantly pounding the big man on his back. "I thought for a while there that you were a goner!"

"I guess I came pretty close," he replied.

"Welcome back, brother," said Doc, clasping Renny's hand warmly.

"Hey! Where's Pat and the Doctor?" asked Monk.

"Pat drove the Doctor to the hospital. Johnny is being discharged, and the Doctor wanted to look in on Ham. I suspect he wants to give Ham some of his own type of treatment," Doc said.

"So, that's the dingus that put a bee in the Master's bonnet," mused Renny, staring at the innocuous-seeming shed still sitting on the crippled flatbed truck in the large hangar space.

"Yeah. Don't get too close – it bites," warned Long Tom.

While they waited for the rest to return so that they could make their plans, Doc examined Renny, paying particular attention to his right hand. His strange trilling sound was heard briefly. "Is there any pain?" he asked. "No," replied Renny, "just a bit of stiffness."

They settled in to wait for Pat, Johnny, and the Doctor. Doc sat in the office, thinking and making notes, trying to come up with ways to trap the Master. Monk spent time cleaning and oiling their supermachine pistols, and checking and reloading a good supply of ammunition drums. Renny gave Leela some instruction on how to use the guns, and how to identify the different types of ammunition. She in turn had him set up a target and try some knife throwing, to assess his skill; she then gifted him one of her knives. Long Tom appeared to be carrying on a conversation with K-9.

They didn't have long to wait. The others soon pulled in, and there was a short but enthusiastic greeting for Johnny. The Doctor reported that he had been able to visit Ham, and provide some treatment while Pat distracted the doctors. Ham was quite put out at being kept in bed, but at least he was now free of pain and the doctors were cautiously admitting that he might recover. Pat had picked up several newspapers as well, as well as some food and coffee. Then Doc and the Doctor began explaining the plan as they ate.

"We're assuming that the Master will be coming after us, since we have his TARDIS," began Doc Savage. "We have the advantage of numbers. Counting K-9 and his weaponry, there are nine of us, and one of the Master. But the Master won't have to deal with communication and coordination issues, and can act instantly with unanimity of purpose. He won't be held back by any hesitation to maim or kill, and despite the loss of his base, he still has some fantastic armaments available. He knows he can try to manipulate us by our moral and ethical codes."

The Doctor picked up the thread here. "We believe we've been able to hide the Master's TARDIS from him, but we could be wrong. Even if we were able to trick him, he might be working on a way to locate it, and he may well succeed. So we must assume we need to defend it and this place should he mount an attack. Alternatively, he might decide to seek out my own TARDIS; it will need to be defended as well. Also, he might go back to attacking the Fair."

"We can't guarantee what his immediate target will be," said Doc. "And even with our numerical advantage, we shouldn't divide our forces too much. The Doctor and I think that we should concentrate our strength at the Fair. This is very risky, obviously. We could be bringing extreme danger down on thousands of innocent people. But we will be there to protect the Doctor's TARDIS, and to do what we can to protect the Fairgoers. If it is known that I'm at the Fair, that might bring the Master after me. Essentially, I'll be the bait in the trap."

"Holy Cow, Doc, you're taking a heckuva chance there!" exclaimed Renny. "This guy's liable to nail you for good! Are you sure we shouldn't try luring him somewhere safer?"

"No, Renny, I'm not. I still think as you do, that we should try to keep the Master away from people as much as possible. The Doctor and I have debated that back and forth, and the Doctor's firm belief is that the Master would then go after the Fair anyway, so that I'll charge in to try and stop him from killing innocents. I don't like it, but perhaps it's better if we're set up there in advance. If we accept the Fair as the site of our confrontation, at least we can make preparations instead of having to fight there anyway and be unprepared. There are things we can do to lower the risk somewhat. At the Northeast corner of the Government Zone, just behind the U.S. Pavilion, right on the edge of the Fairgrounds, there is a Boy Scout Camp set up, about two acres. We let it get out that I'll be there to address the Scouts, but in reality, the Scouts will be across the grounds in the Amusement Zone. The Doctor, Leela, and Renny will be in the area, laying low, spread out in a rough circle around me. They're our inner line of detection. There will also be police there, volunteers in the guise of Scoutmasters, courtesy of Lieutenant Pyke and his men. The U.S. Pavilion will have some problems with its plumbing and its electricity, and will be closed for the day. These measures will reduce the number of people exposed to danger. We can't think of anything better. If anyone sees anything else we can do, speak up."

"Gee, Doc, what are we gonna be doing?" asked Monk.

"The rest of you will be scattered throughout the Government Zone," answered the Doctor. "Your jobs will be to stay out of sight and keep your eyes open for the Master, but still close enough to respond quickly. We'll all be in touch with the communicators. Stay hidden and watch, and alert us if you see him. Once things start happening, you can join in and help apprehend him. Don't take any foolish risks."

"You're our middle line of detection," said Doc. "There will also be a large number of plainclothes police officers scattered around through the Government Zone, and outside that Zone, we'll have many of the Fair workers and staff looking out for the Master."

"That's the trap, but how are you planning to protect both TARDISes?" asked Pat, at the same time as Johnny observed, "The volunteers from the constabulary will doubtless provide a more comprehensive observation network than our scant numbers; however, they will not have the capabilities afforded by the efficient portable communications of the Doctor's incredibly miniaturized radios. Supposing they are successful in perceiving our opponent, by what means can they apprise us of that fact?"

Doc held up his hand to request a chance to answer them. "The answers to both your questions are related," he said, looking at the Doctor. "Yes, well," the Doctor spoke up, "we're going to provide the police and the fair workers with pictures of the Master, and instructions that if they see him, to leave him alone and not approach him. Instead, they will be given a telephone number to call and report where they saw him, when, and which way he was headed. They can call TAchyon-734741..."

"What's a 'tacky-on'?" asked Long Tom.

"Hmmm. All right, they can call TAblet-7347. This telephone number will ring in my TARDIS, and will be answered by K-9, who will relay the information to us. He can also defend the TARDIS in case the Master locates it and tries to get in."

"As for the Master's TARDIS," added Doc, grimly, "It'll be staying here, and we really hope the Master doesn't figure out where it is. Because, Pat, you'll be left here to watch over it."

"What!" Pat yelled. "You're going to cut me out of this! I should..."

"Please, Pat!" Doc interrupted, a note of anguish in his voice. "I realize you want to be in on the trap, and I know this looks like you're being sidelined. But we don't have as many people as we need for this. There might be less action here, but you may well have the most dangerous assignment of anyone!

"You'll be here. Alone. With a strange machine that can apparently take action on its own and which has weapons and defensive capability. The Master knows it was you who flipped that car onto him, and I believe he's the type to hold a grudge! We don't know if the Master knows where his machine is or not. If Ham were not in the hospital, I'd leave him here with you. Your job will be to stay out of sight and keep an eye open, and if the Master shows up, your first responsibility is to call us immediately. You'll have two of the superfirers, and plenty of ammunition. We'll also leave you a few hand grenades. Since the mercy bullets were of little use against the Master yesterday, you'll have standard rounds and explosive rounds; this is a special case, and, I hate to say, you'll be in extreme peril. I sincerely hope you won't need to use them. But this is a critical assignment, and I am trusting you with it."

Subdued by Doc's obvious stress, Pat realized that this situation was far more important than her own preferences, and she assented. "All right, Doc, I won't make waves. You can count on me. But you watch yourself! If this job is dangerous, I guess your role is a lot more so!"

They took a short break to make final preparations. Leela gave Pat one of her knives. None of them were really very hopeful of catching the Master by surprise, but this was the best plan they could concoct with the time and resources they had.

XIX. The Trap

Doc made a call to the Washington Post's New York office, and left a message for the reporter, Diane Johnston, telling her about his appearance at the Boy Scout camp, and letting her know that he had not forgotten his promise to give her an interview. A handbill had been prepared, using one of the photos Diane had taken of the Master, and giving instructions to avoid this man but to report his location and movements to the TARDIS's phone number. Their preparations made, the group set out for the Fairgrounds in two cars. At the Fair, they parked behind the Netherlands Pavilion, being roughly halfway between the British Pavilion and the Boy Scout camp. It was another of those hot, muggy days with a heavy gray cloud cover and an occasional rumble of thunder that had been so common recently.

Hopefully, many of the Fairgoers would decide to spend their time in the various exhibitions which boasted air conditioning. Nothing was likely to budge the long crowds lined up waiting to enter GM's 'Futurama' exhibit, though, but at least that was at the other end of the Fairgrounds, with an extra contingent of police keeping watch.

The Doctor and K-9 headed for the British Pavilion and his TARDIS, where he would quickly duplicate many of those handbills for distribution to the police and the Fair workers. The rest, strolling like sightseers, drifted away to take up their stations.

At the Boy Scout camp, they encountered their first setback. A few of the scouts had heard the rumors about Doc Savage appearing at the camp, and were upset when told that they were to be sent to the Amusement Zone for the day, a prospect that would have otherwise delighted them. There were a hundred forty-four scouts and scout leaders at the camp. At any time, a third were free to sightsee, a third were on duty in the camp, and a third were providing service elsewhere in the Fair. At the thought of meeting Doc Savage, the scientist and adventurer, not only did the group on duty in the camp refuse to leave, but the third of them seeing the Fair on their free time returned! The group on duty throughout the Fair stayed at their posts, but they were clearly upset at this development.

Doc was dismayed at the thought of all of these young people being put at risk as targets for the Master, and tried to convince them that it would be far better for them, and safer, for them to leave the camp and simply enjoy the Fair. This was not in the least successful. The scouts quickly realized that Something Important was going on, and they were fiercely determined to be a part of it. The scout leaders tried to enforce discipline, but it began to appear as if the troops might actually mutiny against their leadership!

Things were at an impasse when the Doctor returned, laden with a very large quantity of duplicated handbills; other bundles had already been distributed to representatives of the police and the Fair workers, to be passed along to their people. Not wanting to carry a firearm, the Doctor had detoured past the Argentine pavilion on his way back and borrowed a bola – a weapon used by Argentine gauchos, or cowboys. This was a throwing rope which branched out into three ropes with weights on the ends, twirled and thrown to entangle cattle.

The return of the Doctor with the copied handbills, gave Doc an inspiration. "Well, fellows, I must say I appreciate your spirit and your willingness to assist, and in truth, this Fair is a very large place to cover. We could use more help, at that, and if you want to lend a hand, I do have an assignment for you."

This was met with an enthusiastic cheer, quickly curtailed; everyone wanted to hear this. "We're trying to locate someone in particular, and we have reason to believe he's here at the Fair. This is an extremely dangerous man; he's hurt and killed several people. I want all of you to take these handouts, with his picture, and spread out across the Fairgrounds. Memorize his face and keep the handouts in your pockets. You have two jobs. First, enjoy the Fair just as you normally would; you must act completely naturally and do nothing suspicious, but keep your eyes open for this man. Second, if you should see him, your top priority is to prevent him from knowing that you've spotted him. Don't follow him! Drift away somewhere else, and call the telephone number on the handout. Report where and when you saw him, and which way he was headed. DO NOT approach him or try and confront him! We only want to know where he is and where he's going – if you go after him, that will prevent us from learning what he's up to. We'll rely on reports from many people to follow him, not from individuals trying to track him. Can I count on you to follow instructions?"

This was met with a cacophony of affirmative responses. "Yes!" "Sure thing!" "You sure can!" "Anything for you, Doc!"

"Thank you," Doc said simply. "But since you're doing something for me, I want to do something for you." He took out his wallet and handed ten dollars to each of the scout leaders so that the troops could get refreshments, go on rides, buy souvenirs, etc.

As the scouts began fanning out across the Fair, Doc Savage turned to the Doctor. "I hate this. I want to get them all out of here, away from the Fair. I don't want any of them to be hurt because I couldn't think of any better plan."

"Yes, I know," the Doctor said sympathetically, his gaze focused on distant scenes only he could see. "I know that feeling all too well."

A small knot of about fifteen to twenty scouts who had been huddled together in intense conversation came over to Doc and the Doctor as a group. "Sir," began their spokesman, "We've been talking, and we think we understand what you're trying to do. The announcement that you would be here at the camp was because you're trying to lure this man here, and you want us somewhere else so we'll be safe. But if that's your plan, you need to make it look right, just like you told all of us to not act suspicious while we're looking for this guy. If he comes here, and there's no scouts, he'll know it's a setup. So we want to stay here and make it look good. We're the fastest runners in the camp, and if you tell us to scram, we'll run like mad! Scout's Honor! We know it's dangerous, but we want to help."

It was several moments before Doc could manage to speak. He thought about Renny, bloodied and injured by the Master's bomb, and about Ham, lying there in pain. "What's your name, Son?"

"Mike Rinko, and this is my buddy Steve," was the reply.

"Well, Mike, I see you've thought this through carefully," Doc said, managing to keep his face and his voice under control. "What you boys – what you men – are offering is appreciated and accepted." He resolved that he would – he must – find a way to stop the Master. "Now – what sort of presentation can I conduct for you?"

Doc ended up discussing with the scouts various techniques for training and studying, and which ones were most effective. By this time, the police who were to pretend to be scoutmasters had drifted into the camp, and were engrossed in Doc's lecture. The Doctor provided a number of fascinating anecdotes about various historical personages and events, giving a quite different perspective on things than the scouts had received at school. After that, the Doctor wandered off, to take up his position as part of the group watching for the Master, with Renny and Leela completing the circle. Then Doc related some carefully edited accounts of some of the adventures he and his team had participated in, including the recent affair of the World's Fair Goblin, while everyone tried to remember to keep their eyes open for any sign of their quarry.

Following his failed attempt to track and regain his TARDIS, the infuriated Master had soon located an airfield and convinced a member of the ground crew to fuel a small, fast monoplane, a Cessna DC-6A. This worthy was then subjected to the staser for his trouble, after which the Master took off and circled the field, laying waste to buildings and aircraft with his laser weapon, the four-beat tocsin in his head now nearing deafening levels.

He spent the time on the flight back considering his next moves. It would be immensely satisfying to put a laser bolt through Savage's head and to demonstrate to the Doctor why he should refrain from annoying the Master by leaving a smoking crater where the Fair currently sat. Detonating a spare TARDIS backup power cell would do the job nicely, but he didn't happen to have one with him, and that just served as another reminder that he was still without his TARDIS. He would have to improvise.

As he flew, he reviewed what he had learned from his studies of the news stories. He recalled one account of Savage's recent involvement at the Fair, which mentioned in passing that an advanced electrical accumulator had been part of a plan to wreak havoc and commit mayhem. This was a device for storing electrical energy, supposedly capable of containing as much power as a large generating station could put out in several hours. If he could locate this accumulator and it actually proved to be more functional than usual for these misbegotten anthropoids, perhaps it would suffice. At least, it certainly wouldn't be able to damage either TARDIS, should they be within the blast radius, which on balance seemed to be a plus. He hoped the device would be powerful enough to get his point across.

He covered the roughly 380 miles back to New York City in about two and a half hours, through choppy air and one storm front, landing at Teterboro airfield, where he commandeered a car and made it to the Fairgrounds before noon. Once there, he proceeded directly to the Fair Administration building, where he learned what had become of the equipment taken from the Perisphere. He also learned that a manhunt was under way for him, with photographs of him being circulated. Of course, his source of information would not recall their meeting afterwards. Then he set out for the Westinghouse exhibit.

The day progressed slowly. Now that everything was in readiness, those lying in wait were anxious for the Master to appear. Nerves were running high; everyone wanted something to happen so that this would be over. Of all those involved – Doc, Doc's men, the Doctor and Leela, the scouts, and Lt. Pyke's police volunteers there in the camp – only Doc, the Doctor, and Leela seemed to remain calm. Leela had great patience when necessary, due to her long experience as a hunter; Doc had highly developed mental discipline; and the Doctor had a vast amount of experience with tense situations.

But nothing happened, and nothing stubbornly continued to happen. After more than an hour, Doc's communicator finally came to life. "Telephone message received. A sighting of the Master has been reported. Target is moving south along the Court of Power in the Production zone," came K-9's voice softly. That was at the opposite side of the Fairgrounds, and moving away from the scout camp.

Doc thought quickly. Should they rush over to the Court of Power? This might be their only opportunity to confront the Master. But it was also a far more crowded area, with hundreds of innocent, unsuspecting people who could be hurt or killed if a fight broke out! The memory of the battle in that parking lot in Astoria was still fresh in Doc's mind. Perhaps it would be better to simply track the Master, and do nothing that might precipitate a massacre? Hopefully, the Master would take the bait and come after Doc. But if they ignored the Master, what might he be doing while they sat here and waited for him to come to them – which might never happen?

Doc now realized that somehow, in his mind, he had assumed that the Master would of course head directly for Doc, and that his spotters would relay information about the Master's location and progress so that he would know what direction the Master was coming from, and when to expect him. It was now painfully obvious that this had been sloppy thinking of the worst sort.

He quickly made his decision. "Monk, Long Tom," Doc relayed to his aides. "Get there as fast as you can, but once you're in the area, take it easy and blend into the crowd. Find the Master. Keep him from seeing you. Follow him and keep us advised." Hoping that he was making the right choice, Doc resumed his question and answer session with his audience. The questions immediately turned to requests for information about this new development.

The next few minutes were nerve-wracking. Before Monk and Long Tom could have arrived at the Court of Power, however, another message came from K-9. "Telephone message received. A sighting of the Master has been reported. Target is moving north along the north side of the NTG Sun Worshipers Colony in the Amusement zone." This was roughly due south of the scout camp, and about as far away from the camp as you could get and still be in the Fair grounds.

"Johnny, take some of the police and check it out. Same instructions as Monk and Long Tom. Get there fast, then make yourselves hard to spot. Find the Master, follow him, and keep in touch."

This was something that Doc was unprepared for. He had made his plans in the belief that the Master could be lured into a prepared trap that would be relatively safer for the Fair attendees. But he had underestimated his foe. These sightings, and Doc was sure that this was only the beginning of a pattern that would play out for some time, would be a very effective way to scatter their forces and disorganize them. Once they were confused and spread thin, the Master would surely make his move. How could Doc counter this strategy?

Soon Monk checked in. "We're here at the Court of Power. There's a lot of folks around, but no sign o' th' Master. Do you want us to head over to the Amusement zone?"

"No. You and Tom stay where you are for a while. Split up and circulate, and keep your eyes open. I have a feeling we're in for a lot of these sightings, and we can't afford to start jumping at shadows."

The tension continued to mount as they waited, but after some time, a report did come in from Johnny. "Our coalition has arrived at the locus of the object of our investigation. We have absolutely identified our objective. Unfortunately, the individual responsible for triggering this apprehension is indisputably not, I repeat, not the Master. He is a reasonable facsimile, of the requisite physiognomy, complexion, and habiliment. In point of fact, he is undeniably the Spanish Ambassador, and possesses his diplomatic credentials among his various bonafides. Fortuitously, Spanish is among my linguistic repertoire as a natural concomitant consequence of my archaeological expeditions. The more intriguing question is whether this was random coincidence or a deliberate attempt at obfuscation by our adversary."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Johnny," Doc replied. "All right, you may as well head back to the vicinity of the camp, in case the Master decides to pay a visit while everyone is haring off chasing phantoms."

Janos Bartok struggled to remain conscious. The pain made that quite difficult. He had been making some progress on sorting and categorizing the bizarre electrical equipment that had been removed from the Perisphere (the medical equipment had been separated out and removed, presumably to be processed likewise by a different group of experts). Things had been going well. Quiet. Dull. Boring. Safe! But then this maniac had to show up, with the worst case of megalomania Janos had seen since his last visit to Providence, and absolutely no regard for human dignity – or bodily integrity!

He had introduced himself as 'The Master', which told Janos everything he needed to know about the sort of mind he was dealing with. The Master had demanded the Accumulator from the salvaged equipment. Janos had explained that if it was there, he simply hadn't located it yet, but that he was welcome to examine the piles of stuff himself. That might have been sufficient; the Master might have simply disregarded him and mounted his own search for the Accumulator. But! the Master had seen the notes and diagrams Janos had reconstructed of the Doctor's Artron Detector.

This caused the Master to shift from 'unpleasant and domineering' to 'foaming-at-the-mouth hostile'. He was firmly convinced that Bartok was in league with the Doctor, and that he was feigning ignorance in attempt to mislead the Master. So, Janos' one and only priority was to locate the Accumulator. If the Master thought he was sandbagging, Janos was in for pain. Perhaps a minor laser burn. Or maybe an ever-so-slight touch of the staser.

There was still a lot of unsorted material left in Janos' work area. He had been proceeding slowly and methodically, so the piles of identified and characterized items were much smaller than the remaining random junk. Unfortunately, this meant many false starts and dead ends in his search for the fabled Accumulator. Which meant many applications of pain. After an hour or so, he had managed to locate the device. It was a metal box, about the size and shape of a long suitcase.

It had also been obviously damaged. That at least had diverted the Master's attention as he examined the unit, and declared it to be repairable. Janos' relief, though, was short-lived. It soon became apparent that a critical component – a sheet of insulator material equally as advanced as the accumulator itself – was missing. Desperate to avoid any further punishment, Janos racked his brain. "What was it that those people were gossiping about? Oh, yes!" he thought.

Eyes closed against the pain, Janos told the Master. "Uppercue – the man who created the Accumulator. He kept the accumulator body and the insulator separate for security! The insulator had been rolled up and stored in a metal cylinder." He stopped to gasp for breath. "During their fight, one of Doc Savage's men took the cylinder and used it as a club, didn't know what it was. It was destroyed! Wait!" he screamed, seeing the lethal fury rising in the Master's face. "Uppercue had several such cylinders! He used the extras as decoys! The insulator might still be here somewhere!"

The Master slowly relaxed, and turned to survey the piles of variegated electrical oddments. With this slight respite, Janos sagged. He felt sick, and not merely from his mistreatment. Had he just sold out uncounted innocent Fair visitors to whatever the Master had planned? Surely, the Master's purpose could not be other than malicious! Maybe it would have been better if he had kept his mouth shut, and let the Master think the device was irrecoverable. He would probably have died soon thereafter, but... If he was dead, he couldn't do anything to try and stop this monster... Working on the Accumulator would be bound to occupy the Master for some time – assuming he actually found the insulator, and even if he could repair it, he would need to charge it... Now he needed to find a way to escape and spread the warning...

Janos knew he was being incoherent. His thoughts were whirling, and he was deathly afraid that he had just made a serious, cowardly error, but the pain made thinking impossible. He decided to forget the questions of morality until he was sure of survival, and focus only on escape.

Doc Savage's prediction had proved to be prophetic. As the afternoon wore on, the team had dealt with another eight 'sightings' of the Master, reported from widely scattered points around the Fairground. In five of the cases, the subject of the report had been found; none of them were the Master, though all of them bore some resemblance to him. In the other three, the targets could not be located, and those left everyone anxious and worried.

This routine, which was proving to be both dull and nail-bitingly tense at the same time, was interrupted in the late afternoon, as the clouds continued to get darker and lower, with occasional gusts of wind, a few drops of rain, and a few rumbles of thunder. Suddenly, the sky was split by a mighty Cra-a-a-ck! and a blinding flash, as a bolt of lightning struck somewhere in the Amusement zone, to the south of the scout camp!

His ears still ringing from the thunderclap, Doc could nonetheless hear the groaning creak of metal. Looking to the left of the huge structure of the nearby USSR Pavilion, he could see the tall tower of the Parachute Jump attraction beginning to sway in the distance! This was an openwork iron tower, supporting a dozen double-seated 'parachutes' fastened to guide wires. For forty cents, Fairgoers could sit in one of these and be hoisted up 250 feet and then descend to the ground, kept safe from drifting by the wire. It was obvious that the lightning strike must have damaged the tower!

Immediately, Doc was running for the Amusement zone, over a mile away, with the Doctor, Renny, and Leela only a heartbeat behind him! Many of the scouts and the police followed suit.

As they arrived near the Parachute Jump, they had to press through a panicked crowd, fleeing the imminent toppling of the tower, which still had well over a dozen riders trapped by the jammed mechanism, either at the top of the tower or partway up. The tower was a tapered, open construction of cross-braced metal supports; from their viewpoint, the tower looked to Doc and his friends like a spindly child's construction of toothpicks – mostly open emptiness with an entirely-too-flimsy framework supporting the large 'mushroom cap' at the top. This 'cap' supported the parachutes and their seats. There was a solid hexagonal base, about three stories high, above which the open framework started. It was there, not far above the base, that several of the vertical support members were broken and burned through, where the lightning bolt had hit! In addition, several of the guy wires stabilizing the tower were now severed. It seemed likely that the tower would collapse at any moment.

Shouting to be heard over the screams from the spectators and the trapped thrillseekers, the Doctor told Doc, "It'll take too long to get those people off of it! We need a way to brace the tower and keep it from falling!" Doc was dismayed. On the run over, he had hoped that they could brace the tower with trucks or other vehicles parked against the damaged area to help hold it up. The presence of the base, and the elevation of the damage, meant that this would not work. They needed another plan – fast!

Looking around, Doc saw a large truck parked by the nearby 'Cuban Village' attraction. Another was pulling in at the Crystal Palace exhibition opposite them. Doc turned to the Doctor. "Can you unfasten the guy wires on the side of the tower opposite the damage? And do it quickly?" he asked urgently. "Yes, I believe so," answered the Doctor. "Be ready!" called Doc, running for the Crystal Palace. "Renny!" He shouted. "Get that truck by the Cuban Village! Back it up as close to the parachute jump as you can!"

Galvanized, the engineer charged over to the parked truck, with Leela close behind him. As Renny climbed into the cab, several of the girls who entertained and danced at the village smiled at the big man and tried to flirt with him. Leela scowled and quickly drew one of her knives; there was no time for this.

Soon Doc and Renny had their trucks in position. They positioned themselves at the base of one of the guy wires that stabilized the tower, on the side away from the damage. Using his Sonic Screwdriver, the Doctor managed to unfasten that cable from its attachment point. With some assistance from the now-arrived police volunteers, Doc and Renny, straining mightily, got the cable into position at the back of a truck and the Doctor fastened the clevis on the end of the cable to the truck. They quickly repeated this performance with three more cables, attaching two of them to each truck. Then, gunning the trucks' engines, they pulled until the tower was once again mostly upright and somewhat braced against imminent failure. They had bought a little time, but this wouldn't hold long; they'd have to act quickly. Locking the trucks' transmissions and parking brakes, they began scaling the tower, followed by the Doctor, the police, Leela, and even a few of the Boy Scouts.

It was nightmarish work, and it seemed to take forever. In a few cases, riders near the top of the tower could be released from their seats and assisted down the structure. This was not practical for people whose parachutes had jammed partway down the tower. For two of these, the doctor was able to free the mechanism with his Sonic Screwdriver so that they could descend on the ride as intended. For another 'gondola', Doc used the collapsible grappling hook and line from his equipment vest to hook the seats and, by main force, draw them close enough to the main tower for the pair of riders to transfer over. This was made far more difficult by the fact that the pair was terrified, and one was proving to be acrophobic; he refused to open his eyes, and Doc had to carry him bodily. By now, the Fair's Fire Brigade had arrived, and had set up a net to try and catch anyone who fell. This was fortunate, as one of the policemen slipped partway up the tower and was caught by the net.

One of the scouts, anxious to be of assistance, slipped while climbing, and would have fallen. Leela happened to be close by on the framework and managed to grab his arm and prevent him from plummeting to the ground. In the end, the riders were returned to the ground, though there were a number of minor injuries, bruises, and lacerations. There were also a few electrical burns, and one poor woman needed resuscitation and oxygen.

Fair Engineers were now surrounding the ride, and Fair Police were ordering the nearest attractions closed for a few days in case of the tower collapsing or dropping pieces on people. They were also busy evacuating the area. Renny was in consultation with them regarding structural repairs, and a much-improved system of lightning protection. He would ensure that Long Tom talked to them as well.

By now, it was raining, lightly but steadily. Although it was only late afternoon, the sky was nearly black with clouds, so the authorities had little trouble convincing folks to clear the area, since apparently they would not get to see the tower fall after all. More persistent were the ever-present reporters and photographers, interviewing the rescued riders and the firefighters and medics, and trying unsuccessfully to collar Doc Savage and the Doctor, who had been clearly seen helping return the endangered riders to the ground.

Diane Johnston and Biff Merten had enjoyed a pleasant day at the Fair. Diane had taken notes and gotten enough interviews with fairgoers, staff, and visiting celebrities to keep her editor happy. The two of them had swung by the Amusement Zone to relax for a bit. As they crossed the Fairgrounds, Biff had quickly noted the presence of obvious (to him) police officers in plainclothes and they had made a game out of trying to spot more of them.

"Whattaya want t' bet that this is all on account of that 'Master' character that Savage and the cops are after?" asked Merten.

"That's a sucker bet, Biff, and you know it! What else could it be? You saw those handbills people have been carrying around. That was one of my pictures! Boy, I'm tempted to call that number and see what's going on! There's got to be a story in there somewhere! Anyway, playing tourist here is all a lot of fun, but my feet are getting sore, and this rain looks like it's picking up. Let's just go swing by Westinghouse and see if Janos is ready to call it a day. Unless you want to head over and see what the hubbub was about at the Parachute Jump?"

"Nah. My dogs are achin' too. I vote we pick up the Mad Hungarian and go sit down someplace dry with a cold beer and some grub." Before leaving, they found their friend Leroy, temporarily free from running messages for the Senator, at the Wild West rodeo labeled 'The Cavalcade of Centaurs'.

"Finally got some time off, Leroy?" asked Diane.

"Hey! Hi, Miz Johnston! Yeah, I was feelin' a little homesick for the family ranch back in Wyoming, so I thought I'd see how some other places handle their critters," explained the large, athletic college graduate.

"We're figuring on hooking up with Janos and finding someplace to sit down with some food. Want to join us?" asked Biff.

"Boy, that sounds good, but I think I'll stick around here for a while yet. They're offering a prize for anyone who can ride Pancho Villa!"

At Diane's raised eyebrow, he added, "He's that there big Mexican steer over there. Nobody has managed to hang onto him yet. I'll catch up with you folks later."

As the private eye and the reporter walked away, Biff observed, "Guess he really does miss Smith Gulch."

"Now, that's the first time I've heard you use the right name for Leroy's home town – you usually call it 'Buzzard's Breath'."

Biff grinned, "Aw, it ain't no fun giggin' the kid when he ain't around to hear it!"

"You know you were as proud as anyone when he took that Silver medal for wrestling at the '36 Olympics."

At the Westinghouse exhibit, they turned away from the public exhibitions and displays into the side corridor that led to the room where Janos was working. Before they got there, though, they found their white-coated compatriot staggering along toward them, leaning on the wall and looking as though he had been severely beaten, with burns, bruises, and a few trickles of blood.

They rushed up to him, catching him as he fell. "Get me out of here! Fast!" was all he said, before falling unconscious.

At the Parachute Jump, everyone was tired, from physical exertion and from emotional tension. As Doc and the Doctor gathered up Leela, Renny, and their contingent of police 'scoutmasters', Doc accepted a Jelly Baby from the Doctor and asked him, "You know him better than I do. Was this incident arranged by the Master? Yes, I realize that the tower was struck by a lightning bolt. I've seen enough of what the Master can do to know that this was probably well within his capabilities."

"Oh, you're quite right in that," replied the Doctor, as they began making their way back to the scout camp. "I don't believe this was his doing, simply because if he had arranged it, he would most likely have taken the opportunity to attack us while we were focused on dealing with the situation. Unless, of course, he was using this as a distraction to occupy us while he was up to something elsewhere."

"Of course." As they walked, Doc used his communicator to check in with the others. Pat had been listening on all of the chatter from her post at the Hidalgo warehouse, and confirmed that absolutely nothing had happened there during the day. Ham, likewise, had been surreptitiously listening in from his hospital bed when he was alone, and proclaimed that he felt fine and intended to get out tomorrow – one way or another. Monk, Johnny, and Long Tom had responded to two more 'sightings of the Master' while the rest were dealing with the Parachute Jump.

As with all the others, nothing came of these, although Monk swore that he had glimpsed the Master down in the Production Zone, near the Electrical Utilities exhibit. Monk was adamant that this one had been the real deal, but did not manage to follow his target. "You anthropoid mistake! I doubt you would know the Master if he fell into your lap!" came an angry accusation. "Yep, Ham is definitely feeling better," pronounced Renny.

"Shyster, I'd tell ya what I think of you, but I'll take pity on ya, 'cause yer brains are even more addled than usual!" retorted Monk.

Once they had returned to the scout camp, everyone was glad to get in out of the rain, where they dried off and the returned scouts prepared hot chocolate for everyone. Because of Monk's insistence that he had seen the Master, they kept up the pretense for a few more hours, in case the Master decided to make his move under cover of the foul weather. Eventually, though, they decided to abandon their efforts for the day.

Johnny had a suggestion. "In our reprise of this scenario tomorrow, Doc, we should endeavor to retain K-9 in circumadjacent proximity to you. In that manner, when the Master manifests his presence in order to commence his attack, K-9 can use his comparable mode of attack to incapacitate the Master instantly and from a safe distance, before any harm can befall innocent bystanders."

"Oh, dear me, no!" interjected the Doctor, aghast at the mere suggestion. Doc added, "I'm disappointed in you, Johnny. You know that a response such as that is against our Code!"

"Doc, during the day, I availed myself of various periodic news broadcasts on the radio. There was a chronicle of a security guard at a rail freight depot in Philadelphia abruptly vacating his post of duty. In the vicinity was found a miniature figurine, duplicating the missing employee precisely, exact in every detail. There were also near hysterical reports from the vicinity of Buffalo, New York. Another rail freight terminus was devastated, with widespread conflagrations erupting across the entire facility essentially simultaneously. Shortly thereafter, a nearby airfield was afflicted by the identical phenomena. And in extreme proximity to the railyard, wreckage was found of a Duesenberg that had been reported stolen yesterday evening in the Astoria region of New York City.

"I realize that this is not conclusive evidence. Perhaps the Doctor can speak more authoritatively than I, but I fear that these incidents are the work of the Master, and that he has forsaken any facade of restraint and is now engaged in a policy of maximum wanton destruction. If my suppositions are correct, we should entertain a strategy to employ means sufficient to curtail his rampages as expeditiously as practicable!"

"Your suppositions appear to be correct, Johnny," said the Doctor sadly. "I believe that this was indeed the work of the Master."

"So, the gloves are off?" asked Renny. "What do we do now, Doc?"

Doc Savage did not reply. He and Doctor just locked eyes, as if they were sharing thoughts.

Eventually, Doc told his comrades, "I believe we need to leave K-9 guarding the Doctor's TARDIS and handling our communications. He should be more valuable there than he would be with us as a weapon. We will need to protect the Master's TARDIS against the possibility of his regaining it. That leaves the rest of us with two tasks – locating the Master, and stopping him. The Master is a fearsome enemy, but he is only one man. We outnumber him, we have many more eyes, and hands, and brains, than he has, and we have the aid of the Doctor and Leela. Let's get some rest and be ready to move if something happens."

The Doctor and K-9 would spend the night in the TARDIS, both guarding it and using its systems to try and pinpoint the Master. The rest, including Leela, would return to the Hidalgo warehouse to keep an eye on the Master's TARDIS and give Pat some welcome company.

That evening, the storm broke, with breathtaking fury. The rain came down in torrents, and there was a lightning storm of unparalleled intensity. At the Fair, the Trylon was struck by lightning no fewer than an awesome one hundred times! Renny had consulted with the Fair architects on the Trylon's design and construction; Long Tom had served likewise on the Trylon's lightning protection. The mere survival of the structure was an eloquent testimonial to the skills of those two worthies. The evening's light show and fireworks display were of course canceled, but an enterprising photographer managed to get a time-lapse shot of several bolts striking the Trylon. It would be on the front pages of many newspapers in the morning.

Unspoken was everyone's fear that this storm was not natural; that it was, somehow, part of the Master's plan.

XX. The Capture

Came the dawn.

The city of New York cautiously peeked its head outside and surveyed the aftermath of the evening storm's wrath. The incredible display of lightning had finally subsided between three and four AM, and the rain had slackened soon after, ceasing completely before five.

There were innumerable tree limbs down across the city, mainly in the Central Park area, and some reports of flash flooding where the gutters and storm sewers had been blocked by trash. Fortunately, there were few reports of damage caused by lightning; few structures other than the Trylon had been struck. Of course, there had been a number of traffic accidents, but not many of them had been serious. The day looked to promise fine, pleasant weather for a change, as if nature was apologizing for the evening's furious maelstrom – or perhaps the storm systems were just completely exhausted.

At the Fair, there had been some damage to the gypsum and plasterboard covering on the exterior of the Trylon, near the top, but on the whole, the structure was remarkably undamaged. Fortunately, the storm had not toppled the Parachute Jump. The additional bracing installed by Fair engineers before the storm broke had held, and repairs were proceeding rapidly.

In the warehouse of the Hidalgo Trading Company, Doc Savage awakened early. He contacted the Doctor via the miniature communicator system. The Doctor reported that there had been no disturbances at the TARDIS, and that his systems had detected no sign of any activity by the Master "although the electrical activity from that lightning storm might have interfered with them. Unless the lightning was a sign of the Master," he added.

"That was my fear as well," replied Doc. "We'll be along presently."

Writing a brief note for his associates, Doc cleared his mind of his concerns and began his daily ritual of training and exercises, designed to keep his mind and body in peak condition. By the time he was finished, everyone else was awake. Long Tom had ventured out and returned with breakfast for all from a nearby diner. Monk had bolted some food and drove off to the hospital to retrieve Ham, who had been loudly proclaiming that he was going to rejoin the team if he had to walk, By Jove!

The failure of yesterday's plan to trap the Master had shaken everyone's confidence, but in the absence of any better ideas, they decided to repeat the plan today, so as to be prepared should the Master make a direct move against Doc Savage. They could try and think of other ways to locate the Master while they waited to see if the trap yielded results. "We probably won't have any better luck today than we did yesterday," Renny declared gloomily. "This devil is sharper than he has any right to be!"

Before long, Monk returned, with Ham in tow. He walked slowly, and was dependent on his stick to keep his balance, but he was determined to do his part. It was clear that his injuries were still painful since his bickering with Monk was quite subdued, and even more apparent by the fact that Monk looked quite worried about his friend – when Ham could not see him. The Doctor took Ham into the office and checked his injuries. He applied a bit of salve to Ham's staser wound, and advised him to stay off his feet as much as possible for a few days. He left Pat with a few instructions and some medication for Ham. Leaving Ham to stand vigil over the Master's TARDIS with Pat, the rest set out for the Fair.

The man walked out of the Maison Coty exhibit at the World's Fair with a jaunty step. I feel a new man, he thought to himself, amused at his wit. He was of medium height, with light brown hair and brown eyes, and his face wore the slightly vacuous, glazed expression of a Fairgoer overwhelmed by the spectacle around him. Only the look in his eyes contradicted his visage. He was wearing a somewhat rumpled police uniform, and carried a long metal suitcase as he strolled past the Star Pylon into the green-tinted Communications zone. A veritable Emerald City, he thought pleasantly. Pity about that – and their little tin dog, too! Hmmm. If it gets to fill two roles, I suppose it's not too much a stretch for the others to serve as the Lion, the Scarecrow, the farm girl – and the Wizard. He did not pursue the metaphor far enough to assign himself a character as he meandered onto Park Row, heading for the Communications Building, where he would be sure to find a bank of telephones. He had a few calls to make.

I must say, that new line of cosmetics from Patricia Savage is most impressive, he thought to himself, and found great amusement in the thought, smiling cheerfully and tipping his hat to passersby.

A few minutes later, another man emerged from Maison Coty. He was tall, with black hair and eyes, and a black moustache and Van Dyke beard. He was dressed all in black, in clothes of an odd cut, and scowled fiercely as he stalked off with great energy.

At the scout camp, the routine was established as it had been yesterday. Doc was, as before, the center of attention from the scouts and the police 'scoutmasters'. The Doctor, Renny, and Leela resumed their positions, and a new group of plainclothes police spotters were distributed in the surrounding area. The 'problems' with the pipes and the wiring in the U.S. Pavilion were "still under repairs", and it remained closed to the public. They had also had to deal with offended representatives of the various trade unions, angrily demanding to know who was doing the work and why it wasn't being handled by union men.

While yesterday's vigil had begun with anticipation and a tense energy, today felt haunted and unsure. What if their prediction of the Master's action was wrong? What if their plan failed? How long could they keep this trap set? How long could their people remain alert?

As if sensing Doc's inner turmoil, the Doctor drifted over to him. "It's been said that no plan of battle ever survives first contact with the enemy. Of course, the problem with plans of this nature is the other side never bothers to pick up their copy of the script and learn their lines."

Doc responded with a slight grin. "Cheer up," added the Doctor. "The Master will make his appearance. His ego would never permit him to not be present. He never misses a chance to gloat!" And with that, he resumed his position.

Doc began the presentation he had prepared for the scouts, demonstrating various small, useful items he carried in his equipment vest. There were the folding grappling hook and its line, which he had used yesterday at the Parachute Jump; a small collapsible periscope that could be converted into a telescope or microscope by switching lenses, or into an emergency snorkel by removing the lenses entirely; the chalk that left invisible markings that would show up under ultraviolet light; and various other unusual gizmos.

The Doctor also participated by performing an impromptu display of legerdemain, pulling various oddities from his capacious pockets and using them as props for some very clever clowning sleight-of-hand, his infectious grin in full force.

During this show, there were a few more reported 'sightings of the Master'. Since none of them seemed headed directly for the scout camp, they were thought to be more of the 'cases of mistaken identity' that they had dealt with yesterday. Teams were sent out to check the reports, and the initial impressions appeared to be correct; no sighting of the Master was confirmed.

By early afternoon, the mood of the watchers was somber. Everyone was beginning to feel that today's efforts would be no more fruitful than yesterday's. The police were getting restless, and several were muttering about getting back to some real work.

Then the call came in, via the Doctor's communicators. "Telephone message received. A sighting of the Master has been reported. Target is moving east along Avenue of Pioneers toward the Schaefer Center in the Food zone."

Johnny and Long Tom were dispatched to try and locate this target. They had just gotten past the Lagoon of Nations when another message arrived. "Telephone message received. A followup sighting of the Master has been reported. Target is moving east through the rear of the Court of States area in the Government Zone." This was bringing him closer to the scout camp, though indirectly. Long Tom and Johnny split up, with Johnny proceeding toward Congress Street, which would take him to the Court of States. Long Tom hurried south along Rainbow Avenue. Hopefully, they could approach the Master in a 'pincers movement' without being seen. They would try to locate their quarry and follow him. With the large number of smaller buildings in this area, though, it would be easy for him to give them the slip. Word was passed to several of the police scattered through that part of the Fairgrounds to casually converge on the area and keep their eyes open, though they would not be able to report instantly, as they had no communicators.

Johnny had managed to hurry down Congress Street and get to the Japanese pavilion before the Master arrived. He put up a pretense of admiring the architecture while keeping his eyes open for his man. Long Tom reported that he had the Master in sight. "Doc, I think this is the McCoy!" he announced. "He's on Congress Street, strolling along like he doesn't have a care in the world, taking pictures of the various state exhibits. Wait! Now he's turned off of Congress and is wandering in amongst all the state halls. Get more folks over here, but keep 'em casual! I'll try and follow him; I don't think he spotted me, but if he did, this is a good place for him to shake a tail!"

There were several tense minutes before Long Tom reported again. "He's back on Congress Street, just moseying along, taking in the Japanese and USSR pavilions and getting lots of souvenir pictures. If he's seen me, he's not advertising it."

The Master might be trying to pass as a tourist, his course might be meandering, but it was in fact steadily bringing him closer to the scout camp. "Monk," asked Doc, "Can you wander over to the Court of Peace and see what the crowd is like there? Can we try and take the Master there, or are there too many people?"

Monk soon replied, "Maybe, if you wanna hold the party at the west end of the Court. There's a bunch of people around, but about all of 'em are on the edges, at those exhibits for th' Hall of Nations42. The west end of th' Court, down by the Lagoon, is pretty empty."

Doc made his decision. "All right," he directed. "Renny, Leela, Doctor, let's head for the Court of Peace. I'll stroll along and make a target of myself, you find cover where you can see without being seen. Pass the word along to the police. If he shows up, we'll make our move." The irony of planning a battle at the 'Court of Peace' was not lost on Doc. Addressing the scouts, he raised his voice and commanded, "STAY HERE! Keep your eyes open and be ready to take cover! This is likely to be dangerous!"

With reports from Johnny and Long Tom to guide him, Doc adjusted his pace. He took up a position in front of Italy's space in the Hall. Renny tucked himself into a sheltered spot near Morocco's exhibit. The Doctor was a bit further back, between Norway and Mexico, where it would be harder for the Master to see him as he approached. Leela had silently drifted away and taken up a station on top of a small information kiosk tucked into an open space between Denmark's exhibit and an empty, untenanted space next to the Italian exhibit. There, she flattened herself on the kiosk's roof, hard to see from the ground, but with an elevated view of the surroundings and good lines of sight – or fire.

"OK, the Master has come down Congress to the Lagoon, and is headed around counterclockwise, between the Lagoon and more of those Hall of Nations buildings," came Long Tom's report. Everyone was at a fever pitch of tension.

The Master continued sauntering nearer, seemingly without a care in the world. Doc slowly drifted away from the Italian exhibit to distance himself from the unsuspecting Fair visitors. He headed across the west end of the Court of Peace, near Federal Place, as though he intended to look at the Norwegian or Romanian exhibits. The Doctor's position was shielded from the Master by Romania, Portugal, and Luxembourg. Renny's was likewise hidden by France. Leela, from her vantage point, had an unobstructed view. Plainclothes police officers wandered amongst the folks admiring the various entries in the Hall of Nations.

The Master and Doc were now within yards of each other. The Master seemed to not have noticed Doc at all. Glancing down, he reached into his coat pocket and started to take something out. Just then, a shot rang out! The Master staggered, dropped his camera, then went down on one knee!

Before the echoes of the gunshot had died away, Leela leaped down from her position on the kiosk roof, her borrowed supermachine pistol still in her hand, its barrel trailing smoke. She charged straight for the Master.

Doc Savage got there first, with Renny and the Doctor close behind. Many of the plainclothes police were also running that way as quickly as they could, though several were occupied with startled spectators on the verge of panic; they clearly remembered the incident during the dedication of the Palestine Pavilion.

Doc conducted a hasty but intense examination of the fallen man, and by the time the others arrived, he was completely focused on treating the bullet wound. Without looking up, he directed, "Renny, please relieve Leela of her gun, before she injures another innocent bystander."

"Innocent by-?" gulped the startled engineer, but he turned to Leela. She had arrived at the scene full of fury, clearly intent on continuing her attack, but Doc's calm pronouncement surprised her, and Renny was able to take the gun.

"What do you mean, 'innocent'?" she demanded, her voice a mix of anger and confusion.

"This is not the Master. We have been tricked. Right, Doctor?" Doc Savage asked as he continued to treat the injured man, the Doctor kneeling to help him.

"Oh, certainly. It's a quite good impersonation, but close up, there's no doubt about it. May I ask how you detected the ruse?"

"First, this man was not reaching for a weapon, but for a package of cigarettes. Second, his collar shows faint smears and traces of makeup and hair dye. Third, he does not exhibit certain, shall we say 'similarities' to yourself that I would have expected to notice on the Master himself."

The Doctor stared at Doc for a long moment. "You have remarkably good hearing," was all he said. "You see now why I despise guns so much, Leela? They make it much too easy to quickly make a mistake with very serious consequences – for someone else," he commented as he worked to stop the bleeding.

Leela seemed embarrassed, angry, and defensive. Before she could speak, the Doctor added, "It seems this was somewhat long range, for a small weapon like that, and especially given your lack of experience with the weapon. I don't believe your victim is in serious danger, thank goodness. Can one of you policemen get an ambulance crew here quickly?"

"I wonder who this guy is?" asked Renny. "I think we know who was playing dress-up with him! Don't worry too much, Leela – this was the Master's fault, not yours!"

"A reasonable question," said the Doctor, and began peeling off the man's fake mustache and Van Dyke and removing makeup and putty from the man's face, while the group of policemen clustered around to watch.

"Hey!" yelled one of the policemen. "I know him! That's Tony! Tony Ainley! He's from my precinct! We use'ta pound a beat together before he went to the Police College and moved up ta Homicide! This gal shot a cop!"

This unexpected identification caused quite a stir amongst the police. Instead of considering the obvious question of what a police detective was doing wandering around the World's Fair costumed as a very wanted man, they turned on Leela as a group, and began pulling out handcuffs and revolvers, clamoring loudly that she was under arrest. There were cries of "I knew Humboldt was right!", "These mugs are up to somethin'!" and "Don't the Chief still want these two brought in?" It was quickly turning into a brawl.

Renny was flabbergasted, and stood motionless with shock for a moment. Doc thought quickly, faced with a very ticklish situation. In the melee, it was entirely too likely that a gun would go off, and someone hurt – or killed. The swirl of excited people also risked trampling the injured form of Tony Ainley. The Doctor and Leela would soon be borne to the ground by a mass of angry police officers, and Leela would draw a knife – if she hadn't already!

"Renny!" called Doc loudly. "Get Ainley out of the way! Then keep Leela from hurting anyone!" Doc wanted to reason with the police, but he would have to get them to listen to him first. He was reluctant to strike police officers, but this fight had to be broken up – fast!

A loud uproar of confused noise was heard from the south, and drawing nearer; it went unnoticed in the donnybrook.

Unseen in the fracas, one policeman on the outskirts of the cluster of combatants took a few steps back, then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, strange looking device. This was the same policeman who had carried the suitcase out of Maison Coty earlier in the day! Savoring the spectacle, he aimed the device directly at Doc Savage and waited for the chaotic combat to settle enough to allow him to be sure of hitting his target!

Just then, an outraged bellow of anger was heard, cutting through the sounds of fighting, along with a thunderous beat of hooves and a scream of "LOOK OUT! COMIN' THROUGH!" as a huge steer, with a young man hanging precariously from its back, charged through at full tilt – and trampled directly over the 'policeman' before he could fire his weapon!

This unexpected development froze the police in their tracks. Instantly, Doc Savage sprang for the trampled officer. The Doctor stepped aside from the frozen fracas, reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out the bola he had borrowed from the Argentinians yesterday. He quickly twirled it a few times, then launched it at the rampaging steer, which had stumbled briefly after stomping its victim, then resumed its headlong charge, its erstwhile rider still draped over its back, clinging mightily to the beast's horns.

The spinning bola flew straight and true, wrapping itself around the steer's legs and bringing it crashing to the ground. While the knot of policemen were engrossed in this spectacle, Renny seized Leela and lifted her out of the midst of the fight. No sooner had he set her down than she charged toward Doc Savage and the steer's victim. Renny turned towards the steer and made certain that it would not cause any more trouble by putting a number of mercy bullets into the animal from his own superfirer, then followed Leela over to the Doctor and Doc.

Some of the police moved over to the fallen Ainley, checking his condition. Others came to see what was going on with the trampled policeman. The Doctor used his communicator to ensure that someone was getting an ambulance to the area.

Doc Savage had determined that the trampled man was not in serious danger, but appeared to be stunned. Doc saw the small device the man had been holding lying nearby. It appeared to be the Master's laser weapon; it had been stepped on by the steer and broken. He pocketed the pieces. Everyone watched as Doc peeled a thin mask from the man's face, revealing now-familiar features. "It's the Master!" exclaimed Leela.

"So you're 'The Master', huh?' Renny asked softly, his injured right fist clenching and unclenching. He grabbed the front of the Master's shirt in his left hand. "Well, this is for the Comet Gang!" he pronounced, as he landed a solid right on the Master's face. "And this is for Ham and those cops and other folks!" another punch. "And THIS is for ME!" with one more punch, the hardest yet.

From over in the Amusement zone, the sounds of a brass band could be heard from the Fair's amphitheater, as they struck up John Philip Sousa's 'The Thunderer'.

"Renny! That's enough! I think he got your message!" warned Doc.

"Sure, Doc," Renny agreed, looking at his hand. "Seems to be as good as new."

The revelation of this 'policeman's identity took the watching cops completely by surprise. One drew his revolver, and others pulled out handcuffs. Doc accepted two sets of cuffs, securing both the Master's wrists and his ankles.

Breathing heavily, the young man who had been attempting to restrain the steer limped over to them. He was as large as Renny. Holding out his hand, he said, "Thank you, sir! My name's Leroy, Leroy K. Jensin, from Smith Gulch, Wyoming. That there critter, his name's Pancho Villa, he escaped from that 'Cavalcade of Centaurs' rodeo over in th' Amusement zone43. Guess one of them fences was damaged by that nasty storm last night, an' I was tryin' to round him up before somebody got hurt. I'm awful sorry about that poor guy we run down! It's a shame you had to shoot Pancho!"

"Glad to meet you, Leroy! I'm Renny Renwick," the engineer said, taking Leroy's hand in one of his massive paws. "Pancho is fine – I just pumped some anesthetic darts into him. I wouldn't worry a lot about this guy," he said, gesturing at the Master. "If I understand correctly, you and your half-a-ton of angry pot roast have just collared the Skulldriller Killer!"

"Gosh! Really? Well, don't that beat all!" Leroy stared at the tableau, goggle-eyed.

The Master, awake now, glared at Renny balefully and moved painfully, as if to get to his feet.

The police were milling about, somewhat confused. Some were still hostile, and wanted Doc, Renny, the Doctor, and Leela taken into custody. Others were more concerned with Tony Ainley and the Master. Some wanted to shake Renny's hand and congratulate him. And many were very plainly hoping for some high-ranking officers to show up and tell them what to do.

It didn't take long for others to arrive. Monk, Long Tom, and Johnny, who had been listening in on their communicators, had gotten a head start. Lieutenant Pyke and a number of his men were also converging on the Court of Peace. Someone called for a crew from the Cavalcade of Centaurs to come get their escaped steer. And a considerable number of curiosity seekers had come over to see what the excitement was about. Several of the police seemed to be relieved to be able to concentrate on crowd control and keep the onlookers back. Finally, an ambulance and crew arrived. They attended first to Tony Ainley's gunshot wound. He was soon loaded up and taken to the hospital. Doc and the Doctor insisted that the Master was not in need of medical care. This was met with a good deal of skepticism from the medics when they saw the Master's face, but they reluctantly relented. Leroy, Leela, and the Doctor were not in need of treatment, so the ambulance left with Ainley, as he was in need of urgent attention.

By then Lieutenant Pyke of the Bomb and Forgery Squad was present, and was overjoyed to hear that the Skulldriller Killer was in custody. Another pair of latecomers proved to be Biff Merten and Diane Johnston. Other journalists were sure to be close behind, so Diane began snapping photos and taking notes at a frantic pace. ("Leroy! How on earth did you get yourself mixed up in this! Get over here by the steer for a picture!" "Miz Johnston! Biff! Great to see ya! We caught the Skulldriller Killer!")

Pyke took in the entire scene, then his eyes narrowed. "O'Toole! Rowcliffe!" he barked at a few of the policemen on the scene. "I know you – you two are in Homicide, not Bomb and Forgery! I think I see a lot of other faces from Homicide as well! What are you doing here? This assignment was Bomb and Forgery!"

"We were ordered to be here, Lieutenant!" came the defiant reply.

"Ordered by who?"

"Detective Humboldt."

"Humboldt has been relieved of duty and placed on medical leave! You knew that! In about a minute, you men will likewise be relieved of duty!"

"Of course!" exclaimed the Doctor, the light dawning in his face. "It's obvious! The Master influenced this Humboldt, amplifying his natural antipathy toward you, Doc! And then Humboldt recruited other police officers who were disgruntled when their fellows fell victim to the Master's bombs! This gave him a hidden force on the force, as it were, ready to do his bidding. Along with the fake Master, they were to lure us into a precipitate strike against the wrong target and make a distraction to keep us from spotting the Master's real attack! They had no idea they were being directed by the man they were trying to apprehend!"

"Took you long enough to work it out, you simpleton!" retorted the Master, a sneer on his face and acid in his voice.

The Doctor wore his sunniest grin as he delivered his rejoinder, "Oh, it was brilliantly planned, certainly! But just think of it – one of the greatest minds known to the Council was outsmarted by a castrated bull! It looks as though you really did heed my advice – to 'Shuffle Off to Buffalo'!"

The Master went apoplectic, and seemed ready to chew through his restraints.

Renny gave a sidelong glance at Doc. "Holy Cow! Do those two remind you of anyone, Doc?" he asked.

Monk's eyes narrowed, unsure if he had just been insulted. Doc face remained impassive, but there was a definite twinkle in his golden eyes.

Suddenly, Biff Merten spun around and faced the rest of the group, as if jolted by a bolt of electricity! "Damn my eyes!" he roared. "Everybody's having such a swell time at this party I durn near forgot! Doc Savage! We got an urgent message from our buddy Janos Bartok!"

At the sound of that name, the Master spasmed, trying to get a hand into one of his pockets. In the blink of an eye, Leela had one of her knives at his throat, and Renny had a fist cocked and aimed at the Master.

"We found him about ground inta hamburger!" continued Biff. "When he come to, he was frantic to get word to somebody called 'The Doctor'! We hoped you'd know who that is! Message is 'The Master has the Accumulator', whatever that means!"

Doc Savage said "Your message is delivered. Meet the Doctor," gesturing at the Doctor. ("Him?" asked Diane, startled.)

The Doctor and Doc stared at each other for a moment, as they both realized the import of last night's epic lightning storm. The Master's battered face slowly developed a truly demonic smirk, and he commented sotto voce, "'Simpleton' may have been somewhat generous on my part."

"Lieutenant Pyke!" called Doc forcefully, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Master and a hand clamped on the Master's right wrist. "Pass the word to the Fair authorities that the Fair is to be completely evacuated at once! No one is to be admitted to the Fairgrounds until further notice! Do not accept any arguments! Inform police headquarters and have the Fairgrounds cordoned off! You men from Homicide! Commandeer the Fair Police, the Haskell Guards, and anyone else in authority and begin clearing everyone from the Fair immediately! Not just visitors, but employees and performers as well! The lives of everyone at the Fair are in danger!"

Pyke reinforced Doc's orders, then turned to him. "What's this all about?"

"The Master has found and repaired an advanced electrical accumulator created by Professor Uppercue. It was part of the recent incident of the so-called 'Goblin' here at the Fair. The Master charged the accumulator from last night's lightning storm. He's almost certainly hidden it somewhere here and is planning to destroy it, releasing all of its stored energy in a colossal blast!

"Lieutenant, have your men from Bomb and Forgery begin searching the Fairgrounds. The accumulator is made of metal, and about the size and shape of a long suitcase, but it may be hidden inside something else, and probably has a bomb attached to it to set it off! If you find it, get word to us, and do NOT touch it!"

"You heard the man! Start moving! NOW!" Pyke ordered.

While Doc was explaining this to Lt. Pyke, the Master had stealthily managed get a few fingers from his left hand into a side pocket on his jacket. Before he could do anything else, however, the Doctor had appeared at the Master's side and taken a solid grip on his left wrist.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "Renny, would you and Doc be good enough to immobilize his arms and hands, while I check and see what he wanted to reach? And don't look at his eyes." With Renny and Doc each holding one of the Master's arms with both of their hands, and Leela keeping a knife at his throat, the Doctor began emptying the Master's pockets. In addition to the Tissue Compression Eliminator and the Staser, there were a variety of other strange and unidentified things.

"Ah! This is most likely what he was after!" exclaimed the Doctor, holding up something that looked like some bizarre oversized wristwatch, with a band large enough to be worn on someone's upper arm.

"What is it?" asked Lieutenant Pyke.

"It's a Ti- type of device called a Vortex Manipulator44," replied the Doctor. "Had he been able to reach it, it would have been his means of escape." He did not elaborate further, but placed the thing in one of his own pockets.

Doc Savage addressed Lieutenant Pyke. "Have one of your men run over to the 'Winter Wonderland' or the 'Arctic Girls Tomb of Ice' exhibit in the Amusement zone and bring back a heavy pair of mittens! Not Gloves! There must be no fingers! As quickly as possible!"

The runner soon returned with two pairs of heavy fur-lined mittens. Doc shot the Master with one of the mercy bullets. He wanted the Master temporarily sedated, but only briefly. They would need him in the search for the Accumulator. Doc then released the handcuffs on the Master's wrists, placed a pair of mittens on his hands, and re-cuffed him tightly, with his hands behind his back. He removed the cuffs from the Master's ankles.

With the Master more firmly secured, the Doctor conducted a more thorough search of the prisoner, and removed a truly dizzying assortment of oddities from his pockets. Doc directed his aides, "Johnny! Long Tom! Monk! Each of you accompany a separate group of searchers. If you find anything, contact us via your communicators! Mr. Merten! Please escort Miss Johnston and Mr. Jensin from the Fairgrounds!"

"OH, no! You're not cutting me out of this story," she protested.

"Sorry, darlin'," apologized Biff. "When this is all over, you can talk to them and get the dope. If things go sour, at least you can tell it all up to this point. But if you're here, and the balloon goes up, you won't be able to tell nobody nothing!"

Still fuming, the reporter allowed herself to be led away by her friends. By this time, a crew from the Cavalcade of Centaurs had arrived with a wagon, and Leroy had helped get the steer loaded up. From the looks of things, he might have been able to manage it alone.

The Master, now recovered from the mercy bullet and quite sullen, was virtually dragged along as the search for the Accumulator began in earnest.

The search quickly became nightmarish. The Fairgrounds covered roughly two square miles, with hundreds of buildings and thousands, maybe tens of thousands of rooms. Their prize was relatively small, and could easily be inside another container or otherwise disguised. The possibility that someone could look directly at it and never recognize it was daunting.

Doc's men had the advantages of not only the miniature communicators supplied by the Doctor, but they had also seen the Accumulator. They split up, one to an area. Monk went with the searchers covering the Food and Community Interest zones; Long Tom drew the Communications and Transportation zones; and Johnny got the Production and Distribution zone, plus the Amusement Zone. Of course, they did not cover these areas single-handed. A large number of police, firefighters, and Fair workers, volunteers all, were doing the bulk of the searching. Their instructions were, if they thought they had spotted something suspicious, to get to the nearest phone and call the TARDIS phone number set up during the hunt for the Master. K-9 would relay messages to whichever of Doc's men was closest. None of the searchers knew they would be speaking with a machine.

Doc, Renny, the Doctor, Leela, and Lieutenant Pyke made up the core group assisting the search in the Government zone, the Hall of Nations, and the Court of States, as well as 'Gardens on Parade'. Having so many people with knowledge of what they were searching for in a single group, rather than being distributed to other areas, was justified quite simply. They were necessary to ensure that Master did not escape or cause any more trouble.

Such an impromptu operation took a good deal of time to organize and get moving, and everyone was acutely aware that they did not know how much time they might have before catastrophe struck.

It was the same pattern they had seen while scouring the Fair for the Master. Many 'sightings' were called in, and they all had to be checked out. Uniformly, they proved to be nothing, merely miscellaneous objects of about the right size and shape. Progress was terrifyingly slow.

As the group led by Doc Savage and the Doctor finished with the Venezuela Pavilion and moved on to Poland, the Master congratulated himself. Eventually, it pays to cover all possibilities, he thought, working his hands with extreme care to avoid detection. Advanced technology and high-power systems are most entertaining, for sheer destructive potential. And there is a definite delight in using psychology to manipulate a foe into walking directly into a well-prepared trap. But there are times when there is no substitute for a low-tech approach.

He was continuing to follow one of his most basic principles. If you give your enemy what they expect to see, they will most often be satisfied and stop looking. In this case, they were expecting to see a Master who had been defeated and was non-cooperative and full of rage, so that was what he let them see. That was certainly easy enough for him to play, especially in light of his mauling at the oversized hands of that so-called 'engineer'; in reality, it was all he could do to keep from laughing, as several of his fingernails, hardened and sharpened to a razor's edge, slowly and stealthily cut through the confining mittens. And how quaint that they thought they had disarmed me by emptying my pockets. They never thought to check what might be hidden in the seams of my garments.

The search continued. More false alarms were reported. At one point, a pressure cooker left on the heat exploded, nearly causing a panic. It had been part of a cooking competition in the Swift & Co. exhibit, and left unattended in the hasty evacuation of the Fair. The volunteers scouring the grounds were near hysteria from the tension.

By this time, the Master had managed to create usable slits in the mittens and attacked the lock on his handcuffs.

Then another call came in. One of the search teams, made up of officers from Lieutenant Pyke's Bomb and Forgery Squad, thought they had found something worth investigating in the Belgium Pavilion. Doc's group was closest, so they abandoned the Polish Pavilion and made their way to Belgium. This Pavilion was a simple but elegant structure, remarkable for its 155 foot tall tower made of Belgian Gray Slate, capped by a carillon of thirty-six bronze bells45.

They were led to the building's 'Lost and Found' by the four detectives who had discovered the device. There was a series of shelves with miscellaneous items lost by visitors to the Fair. On a shelf at about waist level sat a long, shiny metal box, with a small tan canvas bag about the size of an overnight bag fastened to its side by canvas straps. Renny exclaimed, "That looks like the Accumulator, all right!" Doc Savage's keen ears picked up a ticking sound from the tan bag. "And it seems to have a bomb rigged to detonate it."

The Doctor took over the proceedings. "Yes, I believe we can deal with this. Everyone, please step back a bit, if you would be so good."

"In case it goes off?" asked one of the policemen.

"Oh, no, you'd need to be in the next borough to be safe if that happened!" answered the Doctor, nibbling a Jelly Baby. "No, I don't want anyone bumping into things. This will be somewhat ticklish."

The Doctor pulled the Master's 'Vortex Manipulator' from his pocket and studied it briefly, making a few small adjustments to the device. He then used some twine from another pocket and carefully tied the Time Ring to the handle on the tan bag, making sure to secure it tightly to the canvas straps holding the bag to the Accumulator. As there was no projection from the Accumulator to which he could tie the twine (other than lifting the entire device and running the twine underneath, and the Doctor didn't want to risk that), he settled for making certain that the Ring was in firm contact with the metal shell of the Accumulator.

Everyone held their breath, totally focused on the spectacle in front of them.

His preparations apparently complete, the Doctor began to reach for the device, when the Master abruptly sprang forward, his hands free! He shoved the Doctor aside and grabbed the Accumulator and its accessories!

As the others flinched, fearing the expected massive explosion of electrical power, Doc Savage caught the Doctor, then made a grab for the Master – only to have the Doctor seize his arm and bodily drag him back!

"No! Don't touch him! You'd be dragged along!" exclaimed the Doctor, as a strange, high-pitched musical whine was heard and a soft light enveloped the Accumulator, the tan bag, the Time Ring – and the Master! Within seconds, all of those had faded from sight and were gone, along with the weird sound.

"What... in... God's... Name..." began Lieutenant Pyke, his face white and his jaw slack.

"What did we just see?" demanded one of the detectives. "Are we dead?" asked another.

"Renny," said Doc Savage, his posture still tense and his eyes riveted on the spot where the Accumulator had been. His voice cut through the babble, and everyone stopped to listen. "Do you remember that trouble we had with The Vanisher?46"

"Holy Cow, Doc! I remember you guys told me about it – I was in Europe at the time! You mean this was the same sort of stunt? Something disappears here and reappears somewhere else? But I thought that gizmo was huge, and took forever to work!"

"Basically the same principle," affirmed the Doctor, "But far more highly developed." He was glad to have Doc's explanation accepted by the onlookers.

Pyke's face fell. "So what you're saying is that he escaped. He's gone, and he's taken his devilish bomb with him. Now we have no idea where to start looking for him!"

"Oh, not in the least!" protested the Doctor breezily, a merry grin on his face. Then, looking at Doc, "Remember the interference I encountered while trying to track his base of operation? He never did get around to noticing that and compensating for it. Wherever he's gone, I'm quite certain that it was not where he intended to go! And there's an excellent chance that his device went off in his face! It's safe to say that he won't be back to bother you."

"Pardon me if I'm skeptical on that point," retorted Lieutenant Pyke. "I doubt my superiors will accept your unsupported word as reassurance."

"By all means!" replied the Doctor. "Take whatever precautions you feel are necessary. I'm sure they'll unearth something, but it's not likely to be the Master. You're certain to have more immediate concerns to occupy you. That's the nature of your job."

"I suppose we can start with those 'precautions' by continuing the search – at least until we've done a basic sweep of the Fairgrounds, in case that maniac left any additional surprises. I'd hate to tell Whelan and LaGuardia that it's ok to let folks back in, and then have some disaster happen. They'll be apoplectic about this as it is."

"I think that's an excellent idea," agreed Doc. "By all means, complete a 'once over' of the Fairgrounds. I'll speak to the Fair President and the Mayor. I'm sure they'll be reasonable."

Pyke looked at the attending policemen. "Men," he said, "I know you want to get out of here and have a drink. Or several drinks. I feel the same way. But – and this is a direct order! – You are not to touch a single drop until each of you has written out a completely detailed report! You are ordered to be as complete and honest as you can possibly be. There are going to be a lot of questions asked about this, and I want us to be ready with such answers as we can attest to! After your reports are filed, you're free to do as you please, but your reports had better be complete, accurate, and honest."

The Time Ring had propelled the Master, the Accumulator, and the triggering bomb into the Time Vortex47. It gave the Master, still aching from his beating by Renny, an upset stomach, and was not helped by the difficulty of dematerializing through the time distortion.

The Master had not achieved his immediate goals, but it had not been a total loss. He had planted some very promising seeds that would bear fruit later, he had retained his freedom, and avoided the ignominy of being subjected to incarceration by these primitives – and he had several more entries on his 'to be punished' list. Let's see, is that now on volume eight or nine? he thought. No matter. More urgent things to deal with.

He was traveling, without his TARDIS, through the raw Vortex, in company with a dynamite bomb and a highly charged Accumulator that could explode at any moment. Clearly, keeping himself in close company with both of these items was a bad plan. Upon consideration, he decided that he would have more use for the Accumulator than he would for the dynamite. Following intent with action, he unfastened the tan canvas bag from the Accumulator and cast it out into the Vortex, neither knowing nor caring where or when it ended up.

XXI. The Farewell

It would take a great deal of time to complete even a perfunctory search of the entire Fairgrounds, and Doc, his crew, and the army of police and others who volunteered for the search were already tired. No further lethal surprises had been found so far, although a rather large cache of stolen Fair memorabilia was uncovered, apparently pilfered by an employee to resell for his own profit.

As expected, Mayor LaGuardia, Fair President Whelan, and Fair bankers Gibson and McAneny had arrived early in the process and bullied their way onto the grounds. LaGuardia was curious and wanted reassurance that the Fair was safe for visitors. Whelan was gray and beside himself with worry that the Fair would be shattered before it had really gotten started, and that attendance would never pick up. Gibson and McAneny were furious that the Fair had been evacuated without their approval and that so much revenue had been turned away. Their ire was split evenly between Doc Savage and Lieutenant Pyke.

While the search continued, this group, plus Renny, the Doctor, and Leela, had adjourned to Whelan's private dining room in Perylon Hall, where they were soon joined by Pyke's Chief, the Police Commissioner, and Ham Brooks, who still walked stiffly, but would not be dissuaded from attending. Entering with Ham were Diane Johnston and Biff Merten. Biff and Ham had managed to convince the concierge and the police guard that Miss Johnston was necessary to the meeting.

This was not a complete fabrication. A few remarks from Diane that her readers would be very interested in hearing that the bankers were willing to risk the safety of the Fair's visitors for the sake of gate receipts did much to get Gibson and McAneny to calm down.

Ham raised an eyebrow in Doc's direction, looking a question at him. Doc responded with a tiny nod. "Gentlemen," Ham broke into the disorganized chatter. "If I may. I think we all recognize that the process of inspecting the Fairgrounds and confirming their safety for employees and visitors is an extraordinary circumstance that is in the interest of the entire country, not merely to the benefit of the Fair corporation alone or even just New York City.

"Therefore, as a gesture of appreciation for the courage and dedication shown by the brave volunteers who risked themselves for this task, I have been authorized to extend an offer from Doc Savage to bear the cost of the wages for this dangerous task." This offer finished off the squawking of the bankers and freed up the meeting to deal with more important topics. Diane franticly scribbled notes, and a runner – a pleasant, unassuming young man named Bobby McGee – was sent out to spread the word to the searchers, to help raise their spirits.

"Now let us move on," continued Ham, relishing his role here. He was primarily a trial lawyer, not a corporate attorney, but the feeling of being back in his element was a tonic. "Even if the Fair is safe, we will have to work to demonstrate this to the public. I feel sure that this will need to be addressed on several fronts."

"I'm afraid I don't see that as something the police need to be concerned with," objected Pyke's senior officer.

"Perhaps not in the strictest sense," replied Doc Savage. "But we should look at the larger picture. In the first place, it is always in the interests of the police to maintain the public peace and to assure the populace of that, if for no other reason than to help avoid turmoil and unrest. In the second place, as American citizens, we should take the opportunity to help the World's Fair succeed, for America's reputation on the world stage but more importantly, to help spread its message of a hopeful, peaceful World of Tomorrow."

"How can we do that?" asked Lieutenant Pyke. "If we had someone in custody, we could show the public that the threat was over. Without having the perpetrator in hand, all we'll be doing is reinforcing the idea that he may return at any time!"

"Which is why we need to address this in several ways," said Ham, smoothly returning the discussion to his points. "I believe we can count on Miss Johnston to help set the initial tone for the press. And I'm sure that there are many things we can do to demonstrate our confidence in the safety of the Fair. For example, if Doc were to appear in public at the Fair for the next week, simply enjoying the attractions as a normal visitor, that would be a good start to show that there is no danger."

At this, Doc's face showed a split second's annoyance; this was instantly replaced by a pleasant smile and a nod of acquiescence.

Diane picked up the cue. "I will certainly be publicly thanking Lieutenant Pyke and the Police Commissioner, and the Mayor and Mr. Whelan for their unprecedented cooperation and public spiritedness in this effort to end the menace of the Skulldriller Killer.

"Why, there's enough there to run a week's worth of articles on how much safer the entire city is now! And each, of course, would be sure to include detailed descriptions of the wonders of the Fair that played into stopping this killer! And let's not overlook the fact that it was a Fair 'employee' – 'Pancho Villa' – who was instrumental in running the Killer to earth!"

Doc turned toward Diane, one eyebrow raised. "I do appreciate your efforts, Miss Johnston, but that seems like it's skirting the limits of accurate reporting." Turning to the officials, he continued, "Gentlemen. I think that all of our concerns can be dealt with. The central issue is, How can we be certain that the threat posed by this man will not return?"

"You've summed it up perfectly," said LaGuardia. "What would sure boost my confidence that the Fair is safe would be some sort of guarantee that the Master won't be back! We can't in good conscience go back to business as usual as long as a lunatic might destroy the entire Fair in an instant. But we can't shut down the Fair, either! That would be an economic catastrophe that would devastate the lives of tens of thousands of people48 who depend on the Fair for their livelihoods, not to mention giving the country a colossal black eye internationally. We must find a way to guarantee safety! So, tell us again how he managed to get away and where he went?"

Doc thought for a moment, then replied slowly. "Do you recall about two and a half years ago? A scientific criminal called 'The Vanisher' used a machine that could transport objects – or people – directly from one place to another without passing through the space in between. He used it to aid criminals in escaping from prison and in committing various robberies." Doc repeated the explanation he had given Lieutenant Pyke, with more detail, for this audience.

"The 'Master' – the man who the newspapers have been calling 'the Skulldriller Killer', and who was the driving force behind the Comet Gang – had a far more advanced version of the same device. His plan was to kill or discredit me, then use this device to escape, leaving the Accumulator to be exploded at the Fair, causing a great amount of destruction and international chaos.

"We captured him and seized his device. When we found the Accumulator, the Doctor, who has been of great help in pursuing the Master, used the Master's transportation device to send the Accumulator away before it could be detonated. Unfortunately, the Master managed to get free of his restraints and took hold of the device, and was transported away with the Accumulator."

"Then he's gone, and can return the same way at any time," said the Police Commissioner, echoing Pyke's observation.

"Oh, no, not at all," countered the Doctor. "If you ask Lt. Pyke here, and check the reports written by his men, you'll see that they observed me changing the settings on the Master's device. I don't know where he intended to go, but I wanted to be sure that the Accumulator ended up where it could not cause any damage. I set it to transport whatever was touching it a thousand miles straight up49! After all, I had no idea that the Master himself would go along for the ride!"

This was met with stunned silence. Finally Biff Merten said, "Well, that sure oughtta settle his hash for good!"

Ham turned his head toward Biff and agreed, "I should certainly say so! Most definitively!"

Diane stared at the Doctor. "Would you mind repeating that? I'm not sure I heard you right..." she asked in a faint voice.

"Gentlemen," said Grover Whelan, "I think that on that basis, we can be reasonably confident that the Fair can proceed as normal from here on. Miss Johnston, I hope I can count on you and your colleagues to help reassure the public that they need not fear a trip to the Fair."

An appointment was made for Ham to meet with the Fair officials, the Mayor's office, and the Police Commissioner tomorrow to review the necessary arrangements to get the Fair restarted.

And that was that.

It was quite late by the time Doc and his friends got back to the Empire State Building. The general mood was a mixture of relief that they had survived, frustration that the Master was not in custody, and a mild letdown at the amount of work still needed to repair Doc's headquarters. K-9 remained in the Doctor's TARDIS; Pat rejoined everyone at the HQ. Everyone simply grabbed a quick bite to eat and a quick shower, and went to bed.

They were all in a better mood the next morning. It began with the Doctor examining everyone's injuries and applying treatment as necessary. As predicted, Renny's hand had a little scarring, but he was otherwise in good condition. Ham, although still experiencing some difficulty with his staser wound, was progressing nicely, and the Doctor predicted that he would make a complete recovery. Doc began his daily routine of training and exercises. The day again promised to be gray and cloudy, hot and muggy.

At breakfast, Johnny had provided a selection of newspapers. All of the morning editions ran the story of the end of the 'Skulldriller Killer' menace above the fold, and also featured the grand reopening of the Fair following a thorough inspection in light of the tremendous lightning storm. The Washington Post, however, had brought out an extra the previous evening, under Diane Johnston's byline, with the headline "Criminal of Tomorrow No Match for Man of Tomorrow at World of Tomorrow", detailing the apprehension of the Killer and the defeat of his plot to attack the Fair. Regarding the Killer himself, she very judiciously reported only that he had attempted to escape, but that "he lost control of his conveyance and was presumed killed in an accident".

After breakfast, Ham left for his appointment with the officials; Doc asked him to make sure to check on the condition of Detective Humboldt and the other police who had been corrupted by the Master.

Johnny checked the mail, Long Tom reviewed the messages on the telephone robot and took notes on several that should have Doc's attention. Monk and Ham checked on their respective pets. Renny signed for a few deliveries of furniture, carpeting, and various electrical and plumbing fittings and had it all left in the garage; they would bring it up later.

With these necessary items dealt with, plans were made for the rest of the day. Ham wanted to rest once his appointment was over, and Monk planned to continue restoring the lab. Johnny and Long Tom declared that they had had enough of the Fair for a while, and would work on some of the simpler repairs at HQ. Monk, Renny, Doc, and Long Tom spent some time carefully examining their vehicles in their garage. All of the things planted on them by the Master were turned over to the Doctor for disposal.

Doc, the Doctor, Leela, Pat, and Renny decided to return to the Fairgrounds. Doc needed to put in his appearance there to reassure the visitors, and he wanted a chance to talk to the Doctor. "By all means," the Doctor agreed. "Leela and I had come to see the Fair, and this seems like a fine opportunity! And I can replenish my supply of Jelly Babies! Could I impose on you to contact Miss Johnston, the reporter? I'd like to see if she can arrange an opportunity for me to take a look at her scientist friend, Janos. We do owe him a great deal of thanks for his warning."

"I think we would all appreciate a chance to simply enjoy the Fair without worrying about sinister killers," said Doc. A call was made to the local office of the Washington Post and a meeting arranged with Diane. They were then on their way. On the trip, Doc explained his Crime College to the Doctor, and asked him if they could find a way to use its facilities and the Doctor's knowledge to help restore Humboldt and the other police to their rightful frame of mind. "I think that is an excellent idea," beamed the Doctor. "I'm always glad of an opportunity to undo some of the Master's mischief."

"Of course, in this case, we will not remove their memories or need to retrain them, so the job will be that much simpler," mused Doc Savage. "But we will need to prevent them from learning the location of the facility, and I believe I should not be present any more than absolutely necessary. I don't think it would do Detective Humboldt any good to know that I had a hand in this. We'll ask the police to keep our part a secret, and to provide a cover story. Doctor, I don't know what your plans are, but if you can spare the time to supervise this, I'd appreciate it."

"My dear chap, I'd be delighted! Considering our first meetings, I count it an honor to be trusted with this!" grinned the Doctor. "But I'm afraid I won't be able to show Leela the Fair."

"Oh, don't worry on that account, Doctor!" countered Pat. "I'm sure Renny and I would be quite happy to show Leela the Fair – and see more of it ourselves!"

"Holy Cow! You bet!" exclaimed Renny, a grin for once replacing his normal morose mien.

At the Fair, Doc found a phone and contacted the Police Commissioner to discuss his plan for helping Humboldt and the others. Of course, he couldn't reveal all of the details of his Crime College, but was able to persuade the Commissioner to let them try.

The Doctor, meanwhile, met up with Diane and Biff, who took him to see Janos at a nearby hotel. The Hungarian scientist was awake, and in pain, with Leroy attending him. The Doctor did what he could there, but what Janos really needed was a brief treatment in the TARDIS medical unit.

Oh, well, thought the Doctor. In for a penny, in for a pound. He took Janos back to the British Pavilion with him. Of course, the other three insisted on coming along. They seemed quite skeptical as he led them into the storeroom where the TARDIS still sat.

A pavilion worker was there, looking for cleaning supplies. "'Ey, naow, you isn't s'posed ta be in 'ere!" he protested, "G'wan with yer! Plenty ta see up in th' second floor exhibits!"

"Oh, don't mind us!" said the Doctor. "We're just passing through." And he opened the TARDIS door and led the others inside, being sure to close the door behind him.

A brief hammering at the door was heard, while the four visitors took in the large control room.

"Biff?"

"Yeah, Doll?"

"This is going to be one of those situations again, isn't it?"

"'Fraid so, Darlin'."

"I assume from that exchange that you see it, too?" asked Janos.

"Doc, if you're seein' a room that's too big for its britches, I guess I'm seein' it too," replied Leroy to Bartok. "Is this a tesseract? We talked about them in one of my math classes."

"Not at all," interjected the Doctor. "It's a TARDIS."

"Oh, OK," said Leroy. Then, as an aside to Biff and Diane, he muttered, "I never understood why the British have different names for everything."

"Yes, please ignore the little man behind the curtain," said the Doctor. "Bring your friend and follow me. I'll explain later."

Although Janos' injuries were numerous and quite painful, they were mostly superficial. After a little more than an hour in the cabinet, Janos was repaired to the point where he could finish healing on his own. To while away the time, the Doctor played the Edgar Bergen / Fibber McGee and Molly movie "Look Who's Laughing"50 for Biff, Diane, and Leroy. By the time it was over, Janos was ready to be decanted.

"Thank you for your patience," he told them as he prepared to release the eccentric physicist. "And may I say, you're taking all of this with a remarkable degree of sang froid!"

"Yeah, what you said," agreed Biff. "Look, you did us a good turn by helping our pal. Maybe you think you were just evening up the score, since I guess Janos gave you a hand. Let's call it square, and if you wanna keep this stuff on the down low, that's jake with us."

"As Biff said," added Diane. "Janos may have mentioned we've run into bizarre occurrences from time to time. I can't say I'm not curious, but I can't well demand answers. Besides, who on earth could we talk to about this? I like my job, and if I tried running this story past my editor, I'd be shown the door at the paper, and made unemployable to boot! Not to mention being fitted for an overcoat with very long sleeves and filed away in the rubber room!"

"I believe I told you earlier, Doctor, 'It's a very odd world', and every day only brings me more confirmation of that observation," said Janos, now out of the medical unit. "Mere words are quite insufficient, but they are all I can offer for now, so just let me say 'Thank You'. Should we ever meet again, I hope to be able to assist you."

"Thanks a whole lot, Sir!" said Leroy effusively, energetically pumping the Doctor's hand. "We sure do appreciate it!"

"C'mon, let's scare up a lunch counter. Janos looks like he could use a bite," suggested Biff.

"Sounds good," replied Diane. "Doctor, if you would be so good as to show us to the door?"

The most pressing matters dealt with, the following week went as planned with no unfortunate incidents. Doc assisted in transferring Humboldt and the other policemen to the Crime College in upstate New York, and consulted with the staff there and the Doctor in planning a course of treatment. He was very careful to ensure that none of the patients knew their location or of the involvement of himself or the Doctor. After several days, the treatment was complete, and Detective Humboldt was his old irascible self again. The patients were spirited back to New York City. Their memories had not been erased, but rather had been 'fuzzed' so that all they could remember was being treated in a hospital, with none of the details.

Doc Savage attended the Fair as agreed, and had an enjoyable time. Pat and Leela had a great deal of fun as well, with Renny or one of the others joining them as time permitted. Much of the repair work on Doc's Headquarters was either completed or well under way. Doc also made a point of sitting down with Diane Johnston for an exclusive interview, and gave her a full half hour. Ham was almost fully recovered; he and Monk were once again bickering as usual.

It was clear to everyone that the Doctor and Leela would soon be moving on. "But what about the Master's TARDIS?" asked Long Tom. "That thing still gives me the creeps!"

"Oh, no need to worry about that!" said the Doctor, cheerily. "I'll take it with me!"

"I guess I better go lookin' for another truck, then," said Monk thoughtfully. "Then we can get that heap outta our hangar and get it fixed up. Moses is getting kinda nasty about gettin' it back!"

"No, no truck will be needed. Just leave everything to me. You'll see!" said the Doctor, a twinkle in his eyes.

Pat had taken Leela to the Fair, to Maison Coty and the Hall of Fashion, for the full treatment. Steam bath, coiffure, massage, nails, expert makeup, and a complete new wardrobe.

She was stunning.

That evening, Leela, in a light green silk blouse with puffed sleeves, black jodhpurs (with plenty of pockets and space for Leela's weapons), and emerald green slippers, absolutely wowed everyone on the 86th floor. Renny showed up in a very elegant tailored suit, and escorted Leela out to dinner and a show, leaving Monk and Ham standing there, their eyes bugged out and their jaws hanging slackly. For once, neither had a thing to say.

The next morning, the Doctor was reclaiming the miniature radios when Leela and Renny walked in. "Ah, good! You're just in time! I have a few parting gifts, mementos, as it were, for each of you!"

The Doctor presented Doc Savage with a small device, somewhat like the communicators. "A Panic Button. Should you see any sign of the return of the Master, just press the button, and I will return."

"Pat, my thanks for everything you've done, and for being a friend and guide to Leela. Please accept this as a gesture of friendship," he said, presenting her with a jeweled bracelet.

"Renny, I wasn't sure what you might like, but I hope you will find this useful." He handed Renny a book, "Principles of Structural Engineering".

"Johnny, I believe this is something you will enjoy." Johnny was given a Codex of Egyptian Hieroglyphics.

"Ham, this could never take the place of your very elegant sword cane, but I hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it was given." And he handed Ham a beautifully carved walking stick made of ebony, mahogany, and some other strange dark wood. The quality of the carving would have made it a fit piece to grace the collection of any of the world's great museums.

"Long Tom, you rescued me from the Master's trap. This is a poor return for that service, but I hope it will prove useful." Long Tom was given a superbly crafted wrist watch. "It will never need winding, and should be accurate to within a few seconds a year."

"Monk, you were not afraid to confront the Master and had the presence of mind to try to turn his own weapon against him." The Doctor handed Monk a small white paper bag – a package of Jelly Babies! Monk's homely face twisted into a mask of confusion. "Oh, don't worry," grinned the Doctor. "There's a second part to your gift, which I'm sure you will discover in due time!" And he refused to say more.

"My friends," continued the Doctor with an impish grin, "I couldn't very well give you Hearts, or Brains, or Courage, now, could I? All of you already have all of those qualities, and in abundance!" Then, looking at Leela, "Come along, Dorothy, we must get back to Toto in time for our twister!"

"Doctor, there are times when I worry about you!" proclaimed Leela.

Everyone bundled into two cars and returned to the Fair to bid farewell to their friends. They made their way into the storeroom of the British Pavilion, where Pat, Johnny, Ham, and Monk were completely puzzled as they approached the Blue Box. Johnny and Monk were carrying several boxes containing Leela's new wardrobe and accessories. "I've slaved the Master's TARDIS to mine," the Doctor explained. "Together, we should be able to take our leave despite the interference." This was an explanation that was completely non-enlightening, but everyone kept silent and continued to watch this conjurer unfold his trick.

Behind a few packing crates in the storeroom, a boy of 11 years, give or take, was having a kip. Young Wilfred Mott's father had come over from London as part of the staff for the British Pavilion, and had brought along his entire family, since this looked to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Wilf had been ecstatic at the chance to travel and see all of the wonders of the Fair! It would be as good as a whole trip around the world, he thought.

Well, as far as he could see, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the inside of the British Pavilion while he was put to running errands for his father! What was the good of being stuck in here? He'd already seen all of this stuff!

But today, he had a chance to strike out and enjoy the Fair. He and a few of his mates were going to toddle along to the Amusement Zone and see the Cuban Dancers, and play it by ear from there. At least, as long as he hadn't gotten dragooned before they were ready to make their break for it. So, he had hidden out in the storeroom, and had nodded off. The crowd of people wandering in and chatting woke him up.

He froze, afraid he was going to be put to work. Peeking out, he had a perfect view as the TARDIS door opened, revealing K-9 sitting there in the doorway and the spacious control room beyond him. A soft hum of power could be heard from the TARDIS systems. "Master. Mistress. Welcome back." came K-9's fussy-voiced greeting.

"K-9! Good dog! We're very glad to be back!" The tin dog retreated inside. The Doctor and Leela entered the TARDIS.

Wilf was puzzled; how did those people fit into that small box? And they were passing in all those boxes, as well! But the inside couldn't fit in there either! His head began to whirl.

The Doctor turned and called out, "Goodbye! Keep well!" Leela kissed Renny goodbye, and the Doctor closed the door.

Wilf's eyes were huge with astonishment. In this, he had company, as Monk, Ham, Johnny, and Pat were similarly affected by this impossibility. "At least this one is well-lit!" muttered Long Tom under his breath.

Then the light on top of the box began pulsing, and the sound began. It was a strange combination of sounds. The first thing the ear noticed was a groaning wheeze. It rose and fell, louder and softer, as if made by some bizarre bellows, and it pulsed in time with the light. It almost seemed like the labored breathing of some large, weird beast. The next part of the sound that a listener would be able to separate from the whole was a sort of almost musical whistle, starting from a low register and ascending the scale to a higher pitch, with a sort of reverberating quality to it. The final component was a rhythmic thumping, with a grinding and scraping character to it as well. As the sound and light waxed and waned together, the box took on a translucent quality, then moved on to transparent, and as the sound faded away completely, so did the box, as though it had never been there at all.

Behind the boxes, Wilf Mott fainted dead away. This was an experience that would remain with him forever.

Johnny was the first to speak. "Well I'll be superamalgamated!"

Renny finally managed to blink, and added only "Holy Cow!"

Long Tom shook himself, then began berating himself soundly. "Dang it! We missed our chance! That so-and-so could'a at least warned us!" he sputtered.

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Pat.

"If I had suspected what was gonna happen here, I'd've had a movie camera set up and running back at Hidalgo! You just know that when we get there, the Master's TARDIS will be gone. And I'd bet my last sawbuck it vanished just like this, and at the same time. 'You'll see', he said. 'You won't see', he meant!"

"No bet," said Johnny.

With that thought, they had no choice but to proceed to the Hidalgo Trading Company. Sure enough, Long Tom's prediction was dead on. The Master's TARDIS was not there. They stared and looked around a bit, then returned to headquarters in silence.

Picking up a crate of replacement equipment, Monk was somewhat grumpy. "'There's a second part to this gift', he said to himself as he ate a Jelly Baby. "Dang clown can't just say things plain! What second part?" he asked rhetorically, as he entered the lab to continue his repair work. Someone had left one of their ultraviolet lanterns sitting on the lab bench; it should have been put away. As he picked it up, it switched itself on. Revealed in the beam was writing on the lab's blackboard, unseen until the lamp illuminated it!

Monk stared at the unsuspected message for a few minutes. He blinked, and stared at the writing some more. Then he grabbed a notebook and started furiously transcribing the hidden message as quickly as he could, while still being careful not to make a single error in copying.

"YAHOO!" he screamed in delight! "This is it! This is the answer! Hot diggity dog!" He charged back out to the library, where the others were sitting and talking softly, trying to think of the right questions to ask to make sense of the last few days.

"Were the unprecedented events and experiences of this week past representative of objective reality, or have we all descended into phantasmagoria? Perhaps we've all become somnambulists," asked Johnny.

"Or was this some kind of mass hypnosis?" asked Long Tom.

But then Monk charged in, waving his notebook, dancing a jig, and laughing in delight.

"Doc?" asked Ham worriedly, "Did Monk have any ergot in the lab? Our pet pithecanthropus is acting most bizarre, even for him, and I'm afraid it may be contagious."

"Aw, I love you too, Shyster!" Monk beamed at the attorney. "Nothin' you can say is gonna upset me right now! Everything is peachy-keen! Right as rain! Doc! This is it! It's the answer! The Doctor left me th' blessed answer!

"He left me the answer to how to make that chemical fertilizer practically, and cheaply! We'll test it, but this'll work! I know it! Then we can get th' big outfits workin' on cranking it out, an' we can get the Dust Bowl back on its feet! How's that for building th' World of Tomorrow?!"

In days to come, they tested the process, and it worked, as Monk was sure it would.

Doc Savage took the Doctor's 'Panic Button' up to his Fortress of Solitude on his next trip there. He also recovered the Doctor's Artron Detector, which had failed when Long Tom snapped the time loop trapping the Doctor and K-9 in the Master's TARDIS. Doc engaged the help of Long Tom and Janos Bartok, who had managed to save his notes and diagrams regarding the device. Tesla himself contributed to the effort. They believed that they had repaired it and restored it to operation, but of course, they had no way to test it. Doc could have used the Panic Button to summon the Doctor and see if the detector reacted, but thought it wiser not to tempt fate.

The three of them worked to build a number of the detectors, and began setting up a network of them, scattered around the world, to report any detections. Later on, the network was taken over by a secretive organization called Torchwood, where it was significantly expanded and enhanced. After Torchwood was disbanded, the network passed into the care of UNIT.

"Even a Master can be thwarted by a Savage."

Epilogue:

At the end of the Fair's first year, Poland had been invaded by Germany. Great Britain declared war, along with France, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and others. At the Fair, record crowds came out to the Polish Pavilion, where the mood was fearful and morose.

Nineteen-Forty was a tense year on many fronts. By the time the Fair opened for its second season, several countries had pulled out, abandoning their pavilions. These included the Netherlands, Yugoslavia, and the USSR. As the year went on, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Finland, France, Luxembourg, and Norway joined the list of closed Pavilions. Japan and Italy remained.

The apprehension and outright fear felt internationally also spread throughout the United States. It was a tiring year for the New York Police Department's Bomb and Forgery Squad. Beginning in February, an average of around 400 bomb threats were being received each week! Virtually all of these were false alarms, pranks, or hoaxes, but all had to be investigated.

None of the written threats were found to have actual bombs. Bombs were going off, all right, but none of these were preceded by warnings. It was exhausting and depressing work. In June, two bombs exploded in the space of one hour, one on East Twelfth Street, and one at Battery Place. Two days later, bomb threats against three bridges were received. In late June, there was a threat made against the Italian Pavilion (with no bomb found), and on the first of July, a threat was called in by phone against the British Pavilion51.

It had likewise been an eventful year for Doc Savage and his friends. Among their more unusual adventures were a trip to Indochina regarding a plot to corner the world rubber market; Army troops across America being killed by a fiend using an Oxygen Destroyer; Pat Savage disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle while escorting a shipment of gold from Hidalgo back to Doc (she was rescued); a petrifying mist in Arizona; an outbreak of witchcraft in Salem; the partial destruction of the Treasury Building in Washington D.C.; leaders of industry being assassinated via electrical attacks using ball lightning; and an attack on Doc's Crime College using bombs steered by radio. By now, the affair of the 'Skulldriller Killer' was a distant memory.

Sometime on or before Wednesday, July 3, 1940, in the electrical room of the British Pavilion, a small, tan canvas bag quietly appeared up on a shelf. It had materialized out of nowhere. It was about 12 inches by 18 inches by 6 inches and looked like an ordinary overnight bag.

On July 3rd, electrician William Strachan found the bag while working in the room. He thought nothing of it at the time. However, the next day, he saw that it was still there. This time, he noticed a ticking sound coming from the bag. A quarter of a million people were at the Fair that day. Because of the Independence Day holiday, there was a great deal of interest in the British Pavilion's display of the Magna Carta, and the pavilion was crowded with visitors.

Displaying a truly astounding lack of caution, Strachan picked up the bag and carried it through the pavilion to his boss, Cyril Hawkings! The two of them decided to refer the matter, and again carried the ticking bag through the crowds of visitors to Sidney Wood, the pavilion's head of uniformed security! He called for Cecil Pickthall, the British Pavilion's Commissioner General, to join them. Pickthall, at least, had the presence of mind to finally contact the police.

Police officers on the scene gingerly carried the bag to an open spot behind the nearby Polish Pavilion, now vacant. Soon, two officers from the Bomb and Forgery Squad showed up. They were Joseph Lynch and Ferdinand Socha.

As these two attempted to examine and possibly disarm the bomb, it exploded, killing both of them instantly and severely wounding five other nearby officers. Lynch and Socha each left behind a widow. Lynch and his wife also had a number of children. Lynch had been studying for the examination to be promoted to Detective, so that he could get out of the Bomb and Forgery Squad.

The crater left by the bomb was five feet wide and three feet deep. Both men had been bending over the bomb when it detonated. Had it exploded while in the Pavilion's electrical room, it could conceivably have collapsed the crowded building.

Despite a highly-motivated investigation and escalating rewards, no one was ever arrested for this crime, or even seriously accused.52

One puzzling fact emerged during the investigation. The bomb had been sitting there for approximately thirty hours. The question was, if the bomb was set to be triggered by a clock, how had the clock registered the set time several times without setting off the bomb? The investigation later discovered that the clock used was an Ingraham eight-day clock. Perhaps the Master grabbed that clock, not realizing what it was. That may account for the device not going off during the lengthy search of the Fairgrounds.

Doc Savage and his men, with Pat, attended the funerals for Joseph Lynch and Ferdinand Socha. They had not been there when the bomb was discovered. They had no proof. But each of them was absolutely convinced that that had been the Master's bomb, his final parting shot, and it had killed two innocent men. It was a very bitter feeling.

Author's Notes:

The first thing that led to the idea for this story occurred long ago – I'm not sure when. I had been amusing myself with several old 'Doc Savage' pulp novels, and I picked up 'The Secret in the Sky', detailing the adventures of Doc and company with The Comet Gang. At the end of the book, I was unsatisfied. Points to 'Kenneth Robeson' (Lester Dent) for a story where Doc didn't score an outright 'Win', but only achieved a 'Draw' at best; still, I felt cheated. The idea that the cornball 'Stunted' character conceived and developed this drive and these vehicles, completely on his own, in secret, was a bit much to swallow. I thought there had to be more to it, and I suspect others felt the same way. 'Stunted' was no more likely to have invented a reactionless drive than, say, a chemist who dropped a couple of wires onto a copper steam bath!

... er, well, anyway...

Many years later, I happened on the excellent book "Twilight at the World of Tomorrow", by James Mauro, a non-fiction look at the history of the 1939 New York World's Fair, with emphasis on many of the people involved. These include Joseph Shadgen (who first conceived the idea for the Fair), Grover Whelan (the Fair's President and Promoter), Robert Moses (the bullying Parks Commissioner who did more than nearly anyone else to prepare the site and get the Fair built), Albert Einstein, and George McAneny and Harvey Gibson, two of the high-powered bankers who helped arrange the financing of the Fair. I cannot recommend this book highly enough – it is an extremely interesting and fascinating look at a singular point in American History from a very wide variety of perspectives.

Mauro's text is nonfiction, backed up by an immense body of references to document his writing. However, it is anything but a dry recitation of static facts and events. He writes from the viewpoints of the characters he is following, and if he takes the liberty of providing thoughts and statements for them, he at least can point to an established historical record to justify these statements and thoughts as being plausible.

What was unexpected, for me, was Mauro's focus on two 'minor' characters, historical people who actually lived, that on the face of it would seem to have nothing to do with the Fair. These were working-class NYPD detectives Joseph Lynch and Ferdinand Socha. Until I read Mauro's book, I had had no idea that there really was a terrorist bombing at the New York World's Fair. It really happened. On July 4, 1940, in the Fair's second season, a bomb was discovered in the British Pavilion at the Fair. It was moved outside, where Lynch and Socha attempted to disarm it. It exploded, killing them and wounding a number of other New York police officers.

Despite a highly-motivated investigation and escalating rewards, no one was ever arrested or even seriously accused. No explanation for this bombing has been determined to this day.

At some point, my mind combined the Doc Savage novel and Mauro's historical portrait, and added one more thing to glue them together – the long-running British TV series, 'Doctor Who'.

I first encountered Doctor Who in 1974, when American television began broadcasting the shows with the Fourth Doctor, Tom Baker. My initial reaction was that this was a very strange show, odd, silly, 'daft' as the British might put it, but something about it kept me watching, despite the low production values, plot holes, and lack of continuity.

Eventually, it occurred to me that the Doctor's continuing foe, The Master, was the perfect solution to connecting Doc Savage and the bombing at the Fair. "Wouldn't it be neat," I thought, "If it turned out that the Master had given that drive to the Comet Gang to try and mess up Earth indirectly, to try and avoid attracting the attention of the Doctor? And then the plot was foiled by Doc Savage? So when the Master skips forward five years, expecting to see an America in ruins, he finds that he has been foiled by a Savage? And then we have Doc and the Doctor teaming up to fight the Master?"

The idea lay fallow in my mind for a very long time, stymied by one simple obstacle – I am no writer, as can be readily seen from the above manuscript. But it occurred to me that I didn't need to be a good writer for this – not to write Doc Savage or Doctor Who. So, eventually, I decided to think seriously about it.

The oldest notes I can find where I set down anything about this are dated from 2011, and it might have died of neglect at that point, but the COVID Pandemic came along, and I finally made the decision to start writing, in April of 2022.

I must say that research has probably been the most fun part of this. (If I ever get hold of a TARDIS, the 1939 New York World's Fair will be my second stop. The first will be to get a good supply of appropriate currency to spend there.) I reread 'Twilight at the World of Tomorrow' and 'The Secret in the Sky', and took notes. I discovered that I wasn't exactly being original – turns out there already was a novel with Doc and his five aides at the Fair – 'Doc Savage: World's Fair Goblin'. So I bought a copy of that to see if I could work around this bit of canon.

As it turned out, there were good and bad aspects of this story. On the good side, it takes place from May 12-14, 1939. No problem – I wanted to make use of the Dedication of the Palestine Pavilion, which happened on May 28, 1939. I can just start my story sometime between the 14th and the 28th, and make a few references to the earlier adventure. On the bad side, 'World's Fair Goblin' showed up in the April, 1939 edition of Doc Savage Magazine, which means that with an April cover date, it was probably on the stands some time before. And the Fair opened at the end of April 1939. Which is to say that 'World's Fair Goblin' was written before the Fair opened, and it has a lot of detail regarding the Fair that is just plain wrong. So, I did what I could with that, and just kind of have to ignore the more serious discrepancies. And in the end, it turned out to be quite useful if not necessary from a plot perspective.

I was able to scour the internet, and managed to acquire a real souvenir guidebook to the Fair, which has been a wonderful reference source. There's also a lot of material on the web regarding the Fair, and it's been fun digging through all of that.

The concept and structure of this – ambitious? – piece of crossover fan fiction has some stumbling blocks built into it, though. Whereas it's not uncommon for a story to have to get through a certain amount of background and exposition before the action can start, I had three sets of exposition to deal with – I have to explain at least the bare essentials of Doc Savage for readers who are not familiar with The Man of Bronze; I have to explain at least the bare essentials of Doctor Who (although the popularity and exposure of the show since its reboot in 2005 make this less of an issue), and I have to explain at least the bare essentials of the 1939 New York World's Fair – there's a lot of people out there who aren't familiar with the Trylon and Perisphere, or with Grover Whelan. So I was starting to despair of ever getting done with the setup and being able to move ahead with the story.

There was the question of which Doctor Who to use. That seemed simple. I was attracted to the idea of Doc's aides, Monk and Ham, with their pattern of girl-chasing, late 1930's style, trying to make time with Leela of the Sevateem and having her hand them their asses. So the Fourth Doctor it was. Besides, his appearance is perfect to meld into a Doc Savage story. I considered using the 7th Doctor, but I couldn't see Monk and Ham trying to pitch woo to Ace.

Another aspect that caused me grief in the writing was the size of my cast. I'm not fond of how Doc's assistants were mainly insignificant comic relief in the original stories, and wanted to do better by them, and make them smart, competent, and useful. But that seemed to be leading me to giving my main leads short shrift. I have Doc Savage, The Doctor, and The Master. Focus should be mainly on them, and that's been problematical. (I can see why many Doc Savage stories found excuses to leave out some of the Fabulous Five.) Well, there's always Rewrite.

Finally, there's the question of tying all of this together into a coherent whole – especially since I'm weaving my story into actual historical events, without the talent or skill needed. That's actually been kinda fun, and it's been almost scary at times – when I run into a roadblock in the story, it seems like every time, my attention gets drawn to something I'd overlooked that makes everything seem to fit together perfectly. I've lost count of how often that's happened.

I have no hope of ever selling this. I doubt very much that either the BBC or Conde Nast (or Street and Smith, whoever owns the rights to Doc these days) would approve of my making free with their intellectual property. No, I've resigned myself to doing this for myself, for the fun of it, as an experiment, and to hopefully get a few kind words from friends.

Also, recently, it has occurred to me that exploiting the very real deaths of Lynch and Socha for a silly story like this may be a very wrong, disrespectful thing to do; this seems to be another reason to never publish it. For what it's worth, I hope you enjoyed it as a creative exercise.

References:

1939 New York World's Fair ( )

P/AntiqueMap/newyorkcity-harrison-1939-9

1940s NYC | Street photos of every building in New York City in 1939/1940

Twilight at the World of Tomorrow (James Mauro)

Official Souvenir Book New York World's Fair 1939

Many of the wonderful photos and films of the 1939 New York World's Fair available online and on YouTube

Doc Savage: The Secret in the Sky (Kenneth Robeson)

Doc Savage: World's Fair Goblin (Kenneth Robeson)

Doc Savage: The Vanisher (Kenneth Robeson)

Doc Savage: Arch Enemy of Evil (Larry Widen, Chris Miracle)

.com

Doctor Who from A to Z (Gary Gillatt)

wiki

The Doctor's TARDIS – Leela's period-appropriate outfit for 1939 New York –

A quick introduction to Autogyros –

This would be more like Doc's autogyro –

The Doctor, Leela, and the TARDIS Control Room –

K-9

Doc Savage and his Team –

The Master

© 2023 William Swallow

This is an unpaid work of Fan Fiction

For Free Distribution Only

Do not share without attribution

1 Lt. James Pyke really existed. He commanded the Bomb and Forgery Squad – an unusual combination, but it kept them occupied between bombs, and proved useful in examining notes warning of bomb threats.

2 Another historical personage, Grover Whelan had worked for Wanamaker's Department Store as an executive and created the New York Tickertape Parades. Known as New York's "Official Greeter", he also served as New York Police Commissioner under Mayor Jimmie Walker before becoming President of "New York World's Fair 1939". He's referenced in Groucho Marx's song 'Lydia the Tattooed Lady'.

3 See "Doc Savage: Resurrection Day"

4 See "Doc Savage: World's Fair Goblin"

5 Phrontistery – n. A 'thinking place'. Many of the more obscure items of Johnny's vocabulary can be found in .

6 See "Doc Savage: Fortress of Solitude" and "Doc Savage: The Devil Genghis"

7 This unit was suggested by Whalen's administrative assistant, Julius Holmes, who had been a cavalry lieutenant at Haskell Institute for Indians in Lawrence, Kansas, and was impressed by their equestrian skills. Twenty-six riders were selected from three 'Indian schools', representing nineteen tribes, including Creek, Cheyenne, Pawnee, Sioux, and Chippewa. They escorted visiting dignitaries and put on excellent demonstrations of horsemanship.

8 Yup. Britain's White Paper on Palestine was real, and made a real upheaval.

9 Although little respected by the rank and file officers during his tenure as Police Commissioner, Whelan really did create the Police College.

10 Joe Lynch and Freddie Socha are historical personages who really lived. Their stories are told in James Mauro's book "Twilight at the World of Tomorrow".

11 The descriptions here of the workload for the Bomb and Forgery Squad are historically accurate.

12 McAneny and Gibson are also historical. McAneny disliked Whelan and eventually had him ousted as Fair President.

13 www. /worlds_fair/wf_

14 The year before, in 1938, the events depicted in "Doctor Who: Angels Take Manhattan" (Doctor Who reboot, season 7, episode 5) occurred. The actions of the Weeping Angels damaged the fabric of time around New York City, and the damage has not yet healed. This makes it difficult for a TARDIS to maneuver in that locus. The Doctor doesn't know this, because for him, it hasn't happened yet. A time traveler's timeline is tangled and non-linear by definition.

15 With the exception of the addition of Doc Savage's statements, this is as accurate and verbatim an account of the dedication as I can find. It was crowded, visitors from the locations listed were observed, and the remarks from Whelan and LaGuardia are historically accurate. Einstein's dedication is quoted verbatim.

16 Needless to say, events regarding the dedication from here on are fiction. Historically, there was no violence.

17 On the Fair's opening day, Einstein had been persuaded to give a speech explaining Cosmic Rays in the evening, to preface the nighttime light show. It was to feature the 'capturing of ten cosmic rays at Hayden Planetarium', each of which would supposedly trigger another beam of light to illuminate the Trylon and was accompanied by the ringing of 'The Voice of the Perisphere'. There was a power failure just before the tenth 'ray'.

18 Native to Leela's home planet, Mordee, Janis Thorns render humans unconscious but can be fatal to Time Lords.

19 Maskirovka – a Russian word meaning the military use of a small deception to confuse enemy intelligence.

20 In this, The Master was again mistaken. In 1930, as the Empire State Building was being constructed, other enemies of the Doctor, the Daleks, attempted their own plot to interfere with Earth by building a facility atop the building, with power systems using their Dalekanium metal. See "Doctor Who: Daleks in Manhattan" (Doctor Who reboot, season 3, episode 4). This was foiled by the Doctor – at a later point in his personal timeline. For the Doctor here at the Fair, it hasn't happened yet; i.e., he hasn't lived through that yet. Time travel again. Scraps of Dalekanium left atop the building interacted with the time distortion from the Weeping Angels to accidentally give Doc's headquarters a TARDIS-proof shield.

21 This is Uppercue and Mandroff's equipment. See "Doc Savage: World's Fair Goblin".

22 Yes, folks, strange as it may seem, Time Crystals appear to be real. wiki/Time_crystal

23 'Sparko' was added for the Fair's 1940 season.

24 'Artron Energy' is what powers a TARDIS.

25 Sorry, I don't know what a 'bell wire' is, either.

26 See Doctor Who, season 14, episode 13 ("The Face of Evil")

27 The Time Distortion caused by the Weeping Angels, again. They're very untidy.

28 See "Doc Savage: The Polar Treasure", "Doc Savage: The Purple Dragon", and "Doc Savage: The Annihilist". Doc operates a secret mental hospital where criminals undergo psychotherapy and brain surgery and/or glandular surgery as indicated, along with memory suppression, to make honest men out of them. They are taught marketable skills, given new identities, and returned to society.

29 In retaliation for Monk's acquisition of Habeas Corpus, Ham had obtained a chimpanzee which he named 'Chemistry', maintaining that it could have been Monk's little brother. The animal did bear quite a resemblance to the homely, hairy, chemist. Habeas and Chemistry usually mirrored their owner's attitudes toward each other.

30 Fire sprinkler systems had their start in 1812. Automatic sprinklers similar to those we know today were perfected by Frederick Grinnell in the 1890s. It seems reasonable that Doc Savage would have such a system. Handle left, sprinkler goes off in that room. Handle right, sprinklers go off all through Doc's HQ.

31 The Doctor is often more cavalier regarding people learning about the TARDIS. Mostly this is with folks who are already acquainted with high technology, space travel, aliens, etc, but the Doctor tries to protect the innocence of less knowledgeable people. In Doc Savage's case, the Doctor realizes he's smart enough to learn things he shouldn't.

32 Doc Savage maintained a secret hangar on the Hudson River, near 24th Street and the Chelsea Piers. It held mainly seaplanes and amphibians, and was disguised as a warehouse and identified as "The Hidalgo Trading Company" on its signage and documents. It could be reached from Doc's headquarters by a hidden direct high-speed passenger pneumatic tube nicknamed 'the Flea Run'.

33 See Doctor Who, season 9, episode 22 ("The Time Monster Episode 2")

34 See "Doc Savage: The Devil Genghis"

35 This was a group of demonstration homes in the 'Community Interest' Zone, intended to display available materials, equipment and methods for home building.

36 DLR - Institute of Flight Systems - Autogyro / Gyrocopter; also see 'Little Nellie' in the James Bond film "You Only Live Twice". Normally, an autogyro's main rotor is unpowered; it spins by air rushing through it as it moves forward, like a child's pinwheel; even unpowered, if it's spinning, it still generates lift. The powered airplane-type propeller drives the 'gyro forward. This means it needs a taxi run, like an airplane, to get up speed. Doc's machine had the unusual ability to allow the propeller's engine to be briefly clutched into the rotor and spin it up, allowing near-vertical takeoffs with almost no takeoff run. This was necessary for Doc to take off from his skyscraper headquarters. (It also allowed Long Tom to take off without completely ruining the flower gardens where the craft was parked.)

37 As mentioned earlier, Parks Commissioner Moses had been instrumental in getting the site prepared and the Fair built. Holding as many as twelve titles simultaneously, he was a central linchpin for virtually all public construction in New York City for decades, and a combative, confrontational character. He remains a controversial figure.

38 So, how much does a TARDIS weigh? Apparently, the answers are "As much as the writers need it to weigh", and "'Weigh' in *which* dimension, actually?". Doctor Who is not canonically consistent on this issue. We've seen UNIT haul the Doctor's TARDIS around hanging from a medium-lift helicopter, and driving it around in the back of an Army lorry, though, so I think I'm on reasonably safe ground here, so to speak. Besides, apparently a couple guys at the British Pavilion were able to manhandle the Doctor's TARDIS inside.

39 Large, pressurized tanks of water with hoses and nozzles, strapped on one's back; basically big fire extinguishers.

40 Matter Transportation; technologically-based teleportation. Effectively instantaneous travel between pre-established stations.

41 At this time, phone numbers were six digits; the first two were used to make a phonetic mnemonic for the exchange.

42 The 'Hall of Nations' was a series of smaller buildings spread around the Court of Peace, where countries which did not want to mount full-scale pavilions at the Fair could set up more modest exhibitions in shared spaces – 'attached town house'-style exhibits, as it were. In fact, many countries which did have full pavilions also set up spaces in the Hall of Nations.

43 Yeah, this really happened – sort of. In reality, there was a thousand-pound Mexican steer named Pancho Villa who escaped from the Cavalcade of Centaurs and led pursuers on a merry chase. Without Leroy and the others there to lend a hand, the steer actually got out of the Fairgrounds and into the streets of Queens, up 111th Street past 51st Avenue. Someone eventually got a lariat on him and was dragged over two blocks! Pancho was finally collared at 46th Avenue and 108th Street, two and a half miles from the Fairgrounds, where he was tied to a fire hydrant.

44 Actually, it's a "Time Ring", created by the Time Lords, but the Doctor doesn't want to use that name. He's exposed people to far too much otherworldly technology as it is without letting them know he and the Master are time travelers. See Doctor Who season 12 episode 11 ("Genesis of the Daleks") and Doctor Who (reboot) season 1 episode 9, ("The Empty Child"). The Doctor calls this a 'Vortex Manipulator'. These are similar to a Time Ring but not of Gallifreyan manufacture, and even riskier and more dangerous. Both Time Rings and Vortex Manipulators are 'cheap and nasty time travel, without a capsule, and quite dangerous'. They can transport passengers who are physically touching the device through time and space. This was one of the Master's backup plans.

45 The entire Belgian Pavilion has been transported to Virginia Union University, where it has been restored and registered as a historic landmark.

46 See "Doc Savage: The Vanisher". Doc, Monk, and Ham encountered a villain with a very crude teleportation machine. It was extremely bulky and unwieldy, and took a long time to operate.

47 See Doctor Who (reboot), season 7, episode 5 ("Angels Take Manhattan"). It established that the time interference created by the Weeping Angels made it difficult for a TARDIS to maneuver, but River Song's Vortex Manipulator was able to punch through and travel.

48 Registered Voters.

49 This was a mild lie, but the Doctor could not admit that he had set it to send the Master many light years away and into the distant future. He had to tell them something they could accept.

50 This movie was released in 1941. Oops.

51 The above information regarding the international tension, the countries that had departed from the Fair, and the overwhelming number of bombs and bomb threats is historically accurate.

52 With the exception of the statement that 'the bomb materialized out of nowhere', the above is a historically accurate retelling of the discovery and explosion of the bomb. James Mauro's book, 'Twilight at the World of Tomorrow', has a complete recounting of these events. I recommend it highly.