Pulp Fiction | The Ghost Riders Affair (July 1966) (9 page)

Finnish leaned a moment against a machine, breathing deeply of the oxygen. Then he pressed control button panels on inter-com boards.

He spoke slowly, wheezing, but his voice was cold, without emotion: "Operation Four Strike now activated. Leonard Finnish speaking, activating Operation Four Strike. Load atomic warheads for immediate dispatch. Repeat. Load warheads for immediate dispatch."

TWO

The stone door slid open upon the sodden mass of human beings in the many-tiered chamber of zombies.

At gunpoint, Solo and Illya were thrust into the chamber. The door slid closed behind them.

Almost at once, Solo pressed his fingertips to his temples, the throbbing inside them immediately intolerable.

Illya pressed close to him, pushed one of the small oxygen flasks into his hand. "Use it secretly. Our half-blind friends are watching every move we make in here."

Solo nodded, but slumped heavily against a wall, burying his face against it. He breathed deeply through the flask nose cone.

After a moment, Solo felt the pressure of Illya's hand on his shoulder. "I've been thinking, Napoleon. Why didn't they just kill us? Why did they return us here? Why did they let us live?"

"I don't know. Except that means, Finnish is insane enough that he means to have his vengeance because we stole his precious train—"

"Exactly! And we almost escaped. He can't let his people believe such a thing can happen. Not that it's feasible, or worth attempting—"

"He means to use us as horrible examples. He means to have us die the most appalling way his mind can conceive—"

"Perhaps on the warhead train."

"Right. He gets rid of us and demonstrates to any dissenters in his ranks what can happen to them if they defy him."

"That's his plan, if we stand still for it."

"You don't really think we can get out of here again, do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe that depends on how big a diversionary action we can stir up."

Solo moved along the wall until he found one of the nerve gas valves. With material torn from a litter, he blocked it. He went running along the wall, looking for the next one.

Illya ran after him. He caught Solo's arm. "They're watching us on monitoring screens."

"Sure! That's it. They've got to kill us to stop us! If they shoot us in here, they lose us as horrible examples. That's up to them. Suppose we got enough oxygen into this place that the zombies woke up, or even came half awake?"

Illya laughed suddenly. "Oh, I'm with you."

"Then find these valves, block them."

Illya was already moving away from him, going along the walls. He located a head of an oxygen hose. He smashed the nozzle. Pure oxygen gushed past him through the broken valve.

By the time they'd blocked the nerve gas valves and smashed the nozzles on the oxygen pipes, some of the zombies nearest the oxygen lines were stirring, straightening, crying out.

"I hope their cameras are picking this up," Illya shouted.

Solo moved between the rows of waking people. He found Harrison Howell squatting like a Buddha.

Solo knelt before the philanthropist. He pressed the cone of the oxygen flask over Howell's nostrils.

Howell stirred, shaking himself. He straightened, gazing blankly at Solo.

Solo caught him by the arms, shaking him.

Howell tried to slap the oxygen flask from his face. Solo pressed it more tightly over his nostrils.

As Howell returned to consciousness, Solo spoke to him rapidly, giving him a quick picture of where he was, why he was here.

At last Howell shook himself, like a wet dog.

"I know now," he said. "I was on the train. It suddenly plunged down into the earth."

"A man named Finnish," Solo said, voice urgent. "He's gone mad. He means to attack the U.S. with four atomic warheads, unless we can stop him."

Howell nodded. "Leonard Finnish. Yes. I know that name. So that's why I'm here. I've read everything I could find that Finnish wrote before he disappeared. It made a pattern to me—insane, but there it was.

"Finnish believed a world existed in the core of the earth. I figured that he'd found that world. I was on that train, on my way to Death Valley. I believed I could find the way down here. I believed I could find Leonard Finnish. But I had no idea he was hatching a nightmare plot like this."

"Did you tell anyone your suspicions?"

"Sure. Told everybody who'd listen. Some who wouldn't. Word got down here to Finnish, all right. That's why I'm here. He had to stop me before I wrecked his plan."

"We've still got to stop him."

Howell nodded. "What can I do?"

"Plenty. We want to give Finnish and his fat madmen fits. As these people revive, get them stirred up; cause as much confusion as you can."

Howell stood up. "I understand. Leave it to me."

Illya came through the slowly waking crowds of people. He and Solo moved toward the stone door. "I've one of these door controls left," he said, holding the electronic device in his hand.

But they did not reach the door before it slid back into the wall.

The wailing of whistles, continuous and ear-splitting, washing into the chamber. Along the walks people ran, shouting. Trains idled in the yards; everything was a milling mass of activity.

Only one person seemed calm, controlled, self-contained. Mabel Finnish came through the door. Her face was chilled, her pace unhurried. She fixed a gun on Solo and Illya.

"Stay where you are, Mr. Solo," she said.

"Friend of yours, Napoleon?" Illya inquired.

"We've met," Solo said, watching Mabel's chilled face.

"My grandfather is to busy at the moment to bother about two such unimportant obstacles as you," Mabel said. "But I'm not. I mean to keep you checkmated until grandfather is ready for you."

"Well, I'm pleased you found your grandfather," Solo said in irony. Beyond Mabel, the frantic people rushed along the walks. Solo ignored the fevered activity as Mabel did, and his flat tone matched hers.

Mabel's mouth pulled bitterly. "I found my grandfather, Mr. Solo. Five years ago."

"I suspected you probably had," he said. "You weren't really worried about him, and you seemed to know where you were going better than I did."

She shrugged. "Why not? I've been traveling these routes for almost five years."

"Your grandfather's contact with
THRUSH
," Solo said it for her.

"Who better?" she asked.

Solo nodded. "Who indeed? I figure it had to be that way."

"You're not that clever, Mr. Solo."

"You wrong me. I am. Just that clever. I put nerve gas antidote in your coffee on that mountain trail, but you pretended to be knocked out by that gas, though it barely affected me at all. It was a little late, but I realized what your chore was at that ranch—to keep me, or anyone, from interfering before your grandfather got his deadly plan into operation."

"That's still my only objective, Mr. Solo."

"Only it won't work."

"If you move, I'll kill you," she said.

"With that gun?" Solo inquired.

Something flickered in her eyes. Then she straightened. "Test me, and see."

"Isn't that the gun you threatened me with in Wyoming?"

Scowling, Mabel nodded.

"You should have used it on me, then," Solo said. "I removed the lead from your cartridge because I was afraid to trust you, even then. And you know what? I still am?"

Mabel's voice rose slightly. "You're bluffing."

Solo glanced at Illya, nodded, then moved forward. Point blank, Mabel fired.

Solo kept walking. Illya followed him. Panic washed across Mabel's eyes. She fired again, pressing the trigger. The gun exploded but nothing happened.

Solo snagged her arm, removed the gun from her hand. Expertly he reloaded it with clips from her own jacket.

He pressed the gun into the small of her back.

"Let's go see grandpa," he told her.

The wailing whistles continued screaming through all the caverns. Guards ran ploddingly along the walks. Solo saw the four trains, idling, ready to move out in four directions.

But they did not go near them. With Mabel walking just ahead of them, they moved upward to the control room.

Two guards barred their way. Solo pressed the gun against Mabel's spine. She jerked her head at the guards and they went inside.

Leonard Finnish heeled around from a control panel when Solo spoke his name.

All the people in the control room came to attention, peering in desperate, near-sighted concentration at Illya, Solo and Finnish's granddaughter.

Finnish squinted, gazing at them, locating the gun in Solo's hand. He breathed deeply from an oxygen flask, then laid it aside, laughing.

He wheezed with laughter. "So you have broken free again, have you? Very commendable. But you are too late. Perhaps Mabel was unable to stop you, but it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry, grandfather," Mabel whispered.

Finnish laughed again, in wheezing exultance. "It doesn't matter, my child. You have done well. You delayed our enemies just long enough!" He swung his arm toward a bank of monitoring screens. "Look at them! There they go! Racing on our own underground freeways! Four atomic-laden trains! Four trains on automatic pilot—four trains set to explode simultaneously. So you can see, Mr. Solo, you're late. Much too late!"

Stunned, Solo and Illya stood watching the atomic-loaded trains rush toward their targets.

Finnish peered at them, drinking deep satisfaction from their defeat. The he pressed a button. The guards rushed in from outside the control room.

"All right!" Finnish said, breathing painfully. "They've seen enough. Take them out into the city where all can see and kill them. Put their bodies through the hatches into the river."

The guards raised their guns, advancing.

Illya grabbed Mabel, arm about her waist, using her as a shield between himself and the armed guards.

He retreated, holding Mabel tightly against him. The guards ran forward, then paused, hesitant.

They stared at Finnish, uncertainly.

The huge man yelled at them, "Shoot!"

Still the guards hesitated, unable to believe they heard.

"Shoot!" Finnish raged, wheezing.

Illya backed between the panel boards, searching.

"Stop him! Shoot!" Finnish shouted.

Mabel screamed, shaking her head. "Grandfather! No!"

Finnish seemed not even to hear her. She no longer existed for him, except as a temporary obstacle.

"Shoot! Stop him! I don't care how! Stop him!"

The guards advanced, but still they hesitated. Gasping for breath, raging, Finnish lumbered toward the nearest guard, jerked the gun from his arms.

Finnish turned, quivering, holding the gun in his fat hands.

As Finnish fired, Solo lunged toward him, slapping the gun upward.

The gun exploded, the sound reverberating in the control room, the sensitive machine reacting, lights flaring.

Mabel sagged forward. Illya stared at her a moment, unable to believe the old man had shot her. He released her and she sank slowly to the floor. She did not move. She was dead.

Solo ripped the gun from Finnish's arms. The rotund man staggered forward, falling against a computer.

The guard whirled toward Illya, but Solo fired. The guard dropped the gun. He took a forward step, then fell as if he tripped over unseen rope.

He toppled against a machine, clutching at it as he slid down it to the floor.

Illya ran along the banks of panel controls until he found the one he sought.

Finnish stared at him, his eyes magnified behind their thick lenses. Gasping for breath, the rotund man could barely speak.

"Stop him!" he whispered.

He said it again, hopelessly, looking all around him, speaking to nobody in particular.

As if in trances, the other men stood unmoving, watching Finnish.

Illya ran his hand down the panel of watertight door controls. He slapped every button closing doors in every tunnel all through the maze of underground caverns.

Finnish cried out, pressing his hands to his throat waiting.

Illya grabbed up a stool then and smashed the control panel. Lights and fires flared through it. Illya kept smashing with the stool until the sparks no longer flew from the wrecked machine.

Finnish slumped against a computer, clinging to it. He stared at Illya, shaking his head. "Those doors. Now—they can never—be opened."

Illya turned, panting. His eyes were wild with excitement.

"Never be opened!" Finnish wheezed.

"That's the way it crumbles, grandpa!" Illya said.

Finnish shook his head, barely able to speak. "Four atomic bombs smashing into those steel plates! This whole region! Everything! Destroyed!"

Illya stared at Finnish a moment, then jerked his head toward Solo. "I suggest we get—out of here."

The green-clad men stood unmoving for one more moment, then as if all were released at once, they bolted for the doors.

Sobbing for breath, Finnish sagged against the computer, watching his underlings lumber clumsily, running for the exits.

"Fools," he gasped after them. "You fools! Where do you think you'll run to?"

Finnish looked around him. His gray face was rigid, his eyes bleak. His mouth parted widely and he gasped for breath. He slapped his hand around, seeking an oxygen flask but finding none within reach or sight.

He sank to his knees, sobbing. He sagged forward then, covering his head with his arms. He stayed there, rocking, crying, gasping for breath.

Illya ran across the empty room, a place of brightly lighted computers, busy panels, all clattering away in a suddenly, tragically doomed world.

Neither Solo nor Illya looked back. They raced along the white-tiled corridors toward the tunnels where the whistles screamed and people milled in panic.

"Solo!"

Howell yelled at them, standing in the atomic powered elevator. The huge lift was crowded with people from the chamber, and with many green-clad beings huddled together.

Solo and Illya raced across the cavern toward the elevator.

They leaped into it, going past Harrison Howell at the controls, fighting past the green zombies.