Foreword

When Shaitan holds a city for ransom, can even the Black Ghost fight against this evil incarnate that has released a deadly virus on an unsuspecting populace? With the town quarantined, and people dying of the deadly germ, the intrepid fighter in black must find a cure before his beloved Peggy falls victim to the insidious plot of terror!

Shaitan

Claude Benson was a rugged individual, standing six foot, with a rangy build. Those who knew him, expected to see a Mexican sombrero on his head, and a pair of six-guns on his hips. However, the tall man wore a suit bought from a Bowery shop that specialized in second hand wear. Truth was, the light suit hung loosely on his thin frame. As for the imagined six-guns, nestled smoothly under the loose jacket rested twin .45 automatics. His dark, laughing eyes, contradicted the sneer that miss-shaped his mouth.

His pals were all of the same mold; tough, sneering gangsters, with little education, and even less humanity. At the moment, all but Benson were sitting in a fast touring car parked along the curb of the street. Benson was going from one business to another, and each time he exited a little shop, he was counting rolls of bills. After about thirty minutes of this process, the tall, rangy man returned to the touring car, grinning at the hoodlums who sat within.

“Any problems?” snarled the driver of the automobile.

“Nah,” Benson replied. “They all paid their dues without a word.” With a sneer, he climbed into the front seat with the driver, tossing the bundle of bills into the back seat. “Count it, Geek,” he advised a pockmarked gangster. “But I don’t think anyone short changed me.”

Geek, a wizened expression on his face, followed orders, and began counting the loot Benson had tossed to him. It appeared that the pockmarked hoodlum had some education, probably more than any of the others.

Except for Claude Benson! What his pals didn’t know about their partner in crime was that the tall, lean man was not what he seemed. Benson had been an intelligence officer in the war of a few years back. He had operated behind enemy lines as an operative of the Allies, returning to America when the war ended. Having come through the war untouched, he felt indestructible. Thus it was that he had continued in the espionage field for his government when he returned to America. Joining the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he had penetrated the New York mob, and when he was ordered by the mob to accompany a crew of mobsters to Crescent City, a mountainous region in upstate New York, he felt that something big was in the works.

The criminal element of New York City seldom operated outside their environs, unless they were called to Chi. For the mob boss to send a crew to a small village, like Crescent City, was almost unheard of. It smacked of intrigue, as far as Benson was concerned, so he was happy that he was chosen for the assignment.

“It’s all here,” came a comment from Geek.

“Okay,” the driver snarled, “let’s get out of here before the people get curious about us.”

Laughing, Benson snapped back at the driver’s comment. “I think they already know, Gunner!”

“Yeah,” Gunner McClone nodded, “I guess you’re right. But it pays to be cautious, as far as I’m concerned.”

“By the way,” Benson continued, “when do we get to meet the boss? And I’m thinking there is more to this job than just collecting protection money. I can’t see a big boss hiring gunsels like us for just a protection racket!”

“Don’t get too nosy, Benson,” Gunner snarled. “The boss will fill all of you in when he’s ready.”

“I’m not nosy, Gunner, you know that. I’m a right guy. I just want to know what we are up against. Protection money is small potatoes, at least in a burg like this. And what the hell are the shops paying protection money for in the first place?”

“Keep your yap shut, Benson. The boss knows what he’s doing. And, believe me, there is more money out there than this protection racket. You just wait and see!”

“Okay, Gunner, I’ll wait and see. I’m not like that cat that got too curious.”

“What cat’s that?” one of the hoodlums asked from the back seat. Benson and Gunner both laughed.

“Dumb clucks,” snarled Gunner.

Pulling into the curb of a downtown hotel, Gunner dropped off the New York crew, with a final order to Benson. “Keep a low profile. No fireworks. We don’t want to do anything that would cause the local constabulary to call in the feds. That’ll happen soon enough, just wait and see!”

“Okay, Gunner, we’ll be choir boys as long as you say,” Benson grinned at the lieutenant of the mob.

“Yeah?” Gunner questioned. “Well, I wouldn’t sing too much, if you know what I mean!” Laughing at his own joke, Gunner drove the touring car away from the downtown area.

“Okay, boys,” Benson told the crew, “I think we get to rest for a few days now.”

“Say, Benson,” one of the men said, “I haven’t seen any booze in this town. How are we going to relax without some firewater?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Benson told him. “If the town is dry of booze, check with some of the residents. Might be a bootlegger in business here-abouts.”

That evening, after a five-dollar bill passed from Geek to the hotel clerk, the crew from New York was wetting their tongues with some bootleg whiskey. Strangely enough, Benson was not drinking the liquor, but watching his pals as the hooch started to ogle their minds a bit. By darkness, the crew of gunsels had fallen asleep in the room. Heavy snoring filled the room, and Benson grinned as he softly closed the door behind him when he exited the room.

Stepping into the hall, he found the rear staircase, and descended to the ground floor. Here, he let himself out a side door exit, making sure the door did not lock when he pushed it shut, by stuffing a wad of paper in the slot. Strolling down the sidewalk, he passed several pedestrians on their way to the movies, and nodded politely to them. Whistling a current tune he’d recently heard in a New York nightclub, Benson made his way to a small drugstore he had seen when first arriving in town. Inside were a row of old time telephone booths from another era, and this was his destination.

Entering the drugstore, he nodded at the clerk behind the counter, and ordered an ice cream cone. Telling the clerk he’d be right back, he innocently entered a booth and dialed a long distance number he had committed to memory. Listening until a voice answered at the other end, Benson spoke in coded verses so other ears along the line would not understand. Ending the conversation, he acknowledged, “Report negative. Small operation so far, but promise of bigger fish soon.”

Hanging up the telephone, he returned to the counter and the clerk handed him the ice cream cone. Seeing the curiosity on the clerk’s face, he grinned and said, “The girlfriend says no dice tonight, so maybe I’ll see a movie or something.” He was licking on the ice cream as he left the drugstore. His call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation office in New York had not been seen or suspected. If spying eyes happened to see him leaving the drugstore, they would not have suspected anything. The ice cream cone had been a misdirection for anyone watching his movements.

The next morning, Benson was awakened from a restless sleep by the loud pounding of a fist on the door. Mumbling at the audible snoring within the room, he opened the door to find Gunner McClone standing there, a wide grin on his scarred face. “Seems you boys have a lot of time on your hands,” he snarled. “It smells like a brewery in here!”

“Yeah,” Benson snarled back at him, “If you had to try and sleep with all that racket going on, you’d be bleary eyed, too!”

“Get your pals up,” he continued. “Today, you get to meet the boss. And you’d better not be bleary eyed then! The boss wants you hoods wide awake to listen to his orders!”

“Give me ten minutes, Gunner,” Benson told the lieutenant. “I’ll have the boys up and raring to go.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” Gunner told him.

Benson knew how to wake up Army troops, so he wasn’t going to have any trouble with a bunch of weak-minded gunmen. Slamming the door hard, he started kicking the bunks of each of the men until he heard everyone complaining.

“ Hit the deck!” he yelled. “The enemy’s at the gate!”

When feet hit the floor, he told them that they had a rendezvous with the boss, and to be on their best behavior. No one seemed overly impressed, but he moved them along until everyone was dressed. Still mumbling, the New York crew left the hotel for the big touring car at the curb. Gunner sat behind the wheel, a big grin on his face. “That’s what I like,” he snarled, “a happy crew of gunmen!”

Piling into the 4-door sedan, the New York crew settled back in the cushions and began snoring again. Benson laughed. “With gunmen like these, your boss should be very happy!”

“He’s a tough hombre, Benson. I’d suggest you and your men be very respectable when in his presence. He has your life in his hands, just wait and see!”

“I’ve worked with tough hombres before, Gunner. I’ve yet to be impressed. Just as long as your boss understands that!” Benson snarled.

“Wait and see,” was Gunner’s prophetic statement.

The trip was a long one, and Benson was surprised when the touring car left the city proper and traveled deep into the countryside. The terrain was now mountainous, and Gunner drove the car at a slow clip to avoid dangerous drop offs and sharp angled curves. Dotted here and there were old farm buildings, falling apart from lack of use. Benson figured that most of the buildings had been homes in the last century, but with towns springing up, families had left their mountain homes for the cities below. Crescent City had begun in this way, he was sure.

After the main road ended, a narrow path continued upward, the ground little more than weeds and rocks. “Damn,” Benson snarled, “it must be hell getting up here in the rainy season!”

“You’d be surprised, Benson,” Gunner commented. “The ground up here is hard. There’s probably a rock bed under the soil. You won’t get bogged down, but there is a danger of slippery surfaces, made all the more dangerous by the twisting curves and drop offs.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Gunner. Hopefully, my crew will be out of here long before the rainy season!”

“Maybe,” Gunner said.

Coming around a sharp bend to the right, Benson was amazed at the house that met his eyes. Little more than a log cabin, it was small, and set back against the wall of a mountain rise, as if it was merely a part of the wall itself.

“Whew!” Benson exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Gunner said.

Tooling the big automobile up next to the little cabin, Gunner ordered the men out. “The front door is open,” he told them, “just go on in. Should be some chairs inside. Select one, and wait for the boss. I’ll join you shortly.”

Benson and his crew did as they were instructed. The inside of the little cabin was a single room, with several chairs positioned in a way that they faced the back wall. Two very large candles provided light within the room, and these were set about ten feet apart towards the back wall. A larger, carven seat was sat against the back wall, illuminated by the candles. All eyes were directed in that direction. Adorned like a throne, the large chair was impressive, and Benson thought it might have once belonged to a group of Masons.

A smile crossed Benson’s lips, as he tried to imagine the egomaniac that thought of himself as some kind of king. That smile vanished, though, when a puff of smoke suddenly exploded between the candles, and when the smoke cleared, Benson saw a creature dressed all in red standing where the smoke had appeared a second before.

He heard a lot of gasps from his crew, and again a smile crossed his lips. Small minds were subject to illusions and black magic! But Benson knew it was all a trick to impress the audience. He was not impressed.

However, when a hand suddenly touched him on the shoulder, he did jump a few inches from his seat. Looking up, he saw Gunner standing beside him. “Your boss knows how to make an entrance,” he smiled.

“Listen!” Gunner ordered.

The man standing near the throne was speaking now. His voice was low, but penetrating, and none within the room failed to hear every word. “Our campaign has started,” he began, and his arms waved in an exaggerated movement. Benson noticed that even the man’s shoes were a reddish brown, and the mask that covered his face was actually a hood, pulled completely over his head, with two eye sockets, and a slit for a mouth. Pants and shirt, jacket and tie, all were a weird shade of red. Benson looked closely, to see if there were red horns, as well. “A boogie man,” he whispered, so low that he doubted that even Gunner had heard him.

“Two weeks ago,” the voice continued, “my lieutenant kidnapped a famous scientist. You probably won’t recognize the name, but it is Oscar Velcoe. Velcoe has been working on a formula for a virus that drives men crazy. This formula had been offered to the Army, to be used in wars abroad. But before he could give the formula to anyone, Gunner McClone kidnapped him, along with the formula, and it belongs to me now. Soon, I will threaten Crescent City, demanding millions of dollars. To refuse my demands would result in the whole populace going mad.

“But it matters not. For once they give me the millions I am demanding, I will unleash the poison anyway, sending a whole city into madness. We will be gone by then. When I am reestablished in a new headquarters, I will then threaten America. Their law enforcement agencies will never find me, and we can destroy at will, until all of my demands are met. You men will be my arms and legs, for I must always be unknown. Even my trusted lieutenant, Gunner McClone, does not know my identity. For the time being, you may call me Shaitan!”

The name rang inside Benson’s head. Shaitan! Now he was impressed. The war in the Middle East came back to Benson with an explosion. Many years ago, in the days of the red revolt in Russia, when the astrakhan-capped Bolsheviki had terrorized all Asia with their massacres along the Mongolian border, the name of Shaitan had brought shudders whenever it was uttered. Whether man or demon, none had ever known. But there were hundreds who had witnessed his cruelty, unequaled even in the days of the Spanish Inquisition.

He was neither a fanatic nor a Bolshevist, nor a soldier or politician. Shaitan had made the most of what history had offered. He had scourged humanity to gain gold for his coffers. He had harnessed the power of one corner of a war-torn world for his own selfish purposes. And like a vulture over a battlefield, he had fattened upon the misfortunes of others.

Shaitan was a man of the East who had inherited the worst traits of various strains of blood mixed in his veins. Rumor had it that his father had been American, and his mother of Eastern origin.

Benson had read of Shaitan when he was a child in school, and as far as he knew, no one had ever seen his face, nor was he ever discovered. Was this man standing before him a descendant of the first Shaitan, or merely someone using his identity? He knew that his compatriots at the FBI were not aware of him. Sweat began trickling down his neck, and running down his back. This was something big. With this monster in America, he knew that his country was in for a terror campaign unparalleled in history. It was important that he get away from the gang now, and report Shaitan’s presence in America. But who would believe him. Not his fellow FBI agents. But who ... ?

Then a name came to him with a sudden shock. “Of course,” he whispered. “He will know what the name of Shaitan will mean to our country!” Now it was imperative that he locate a myth, for no one knew how to contact the man he knew must be told. With that course in mind, Benson silently stood up and backed towards the door. If he could just get to the car, he could leave these men here in the mountains without transportation. With that goal in mind, he backed out the door as silently as possible. Once his feet touched the ground outside, he sprinted for the parked automobile, only to collide with Gunner McClone who had returned to the car to stand guard.

Surprise was to his advantage, as he knocked the gang lieutenant to the ground with a well-aimed uppercut. Rushing to the car he jumped inside, only to find the ignition key missing. He knew immediately that Gunner had pocketed the key. But it was too late to retrieve it, as the lieutenant was getting to his feet, and a big automatic was already in his fist. Benson swung around the touring car and headed for the mountain range, hoping to evade his enemies.

He heard the shot behind him the instant he felt a fire enter his left breast from the back. Benson knew that the wound was likely fatal, but he had to escape and get his news to someone, regardless of his own safety. He struggled deeper into the woods of the mountain, and found a small leaf covered area that could provide a hiding place for a while. Crawling beneath the leaves and brush, he remained silent as he heard many footsteps pass by above him.

The searchers prowled the woods for a long time. From the voices above him, he got the impression that Gunner was not sure the bullet had found its mark, and, thankfully, he had not left a bloody trail.

The day was long, and eventually, the gang left once more for the city. The woods became silent, with an occasional bark from a wild dog. Benson waited for another hour before crawling from beneath the leaves. Finding no one about, he started walking towards the unknown. He wasn’t familiar with the mountainous terrain, and could only guide himself by the stars. He thought that he was traveling away from both the mountain cabin and Crescent City, and for now, that was good enough.

Feeling wetness on his chest, he felt of the spot and found that the wound was bleeding again. He placed a cloth, ripped from a pocket, tight against his chest, and hoped that this would slow the flow of blood. He stumbled through the woods, its darkness both a haven and a danger to him. His mind was beginning to wander, and he wasn’t sure he would make it now.

Following a down hill course, he suddenly saw a bright light swishing from one side to the other, and was momentarily at a loss for what it was, fearing at first it was returning searchers. Then, stumbling over an obstacle, he reached down and discovered railroad tracks. A train! The flashing light was fast approaching, and, indeed, now he could feel the vibration of the heavy locomotive. The train had slowed, as it was pulling up hill, and Benson saw his chance. Hiding from the light, he waited until the train was rolling past him. Seeing an open car, he ran lightly and leaped upwards, catching the open freight door with strong fingers, and then he pulled himself aboard the empty compartment. Once aboard, he slumped into a fitful slumber.

* * *

The little coupe was traveling at a slow pace along the outskirts of the great city, the young couple sat within the interior, apparently without any concern except for each other. The girl, dressed in wardrobe of expensive design, wore a light blue evening gown to match her deep, sea blue eyes, in contrast to her flaming red hair. The driver of the coupe was dressed in a black tuxedo, his short-cropped blond hair waved gently as it was combed neatly in place.

Loosening the tie with one hand, while the other gently guided the car around winding curves in the roadway, Jimmy Malone glanced at his lovely wife beside him. “What a boring evening,” he gently mocked her.

Smiling, she admitted. “Yes, darling, there were a lot of stuffed shirts at the gathering, I guess.”

“But it was for a good cause, I suppose,” the young man continued.

“If it had not been, “ Peggy Malone sighed, “I would not have insisted that we attend, darling.”

“Land mines are crippling a lot of children around the world today,” Jimmy admitted. “Whatever we can do to help those in need, I am all for the work.”

“Speaking of cripples,” Peggy grinned, “Doctor Vashti said we can pick up Mox for a day in the country!”

“That old veterinarian has Mox fixed as good as new,” Jimmy laughed. “He’s just trying to work on our sympathy, getting us to pick Mox up to run him in the country.”

“He wants us to adopt him, you know,” Peggy laughed.

“Of course, the old scoundrel. Ever since I rescued the German Sheppard from that lab, Doctor Vashti thinks I should be the one to take Mox.”

“Mox has taken to you, dear,” Peggy grinned. “Somehow, I think the dog knows that you destroyed the evil that was in that lab.” 

“Unfortunately, the city is no place for Mox. He needs a place where he can run, with lots of room. No apartments. We’ll see that he finds a good home, and Doctor Vashti knows that, too!”

Swinging around a bend in the road, the coupe paralleled a railroad track for a ways. Jimmy was watching the rails flash by in the moonlight, when Peggy’s sudden scream brought his attention back to the road. With swift, coordinated movement, Jimmy twisted the steering of the coupe sharply to the left, barely missing a figure staggering along the road next to the tracks. As he swung the car to the side of the road in a sliding stop, he saw through the rearview mirror that the dark figure was falling to the ground.

Stepping out of the car, he ordered his wife, “Wait here, darling.”

Walking back towards the fallen figure, he heard running footsteps, and looked to see Peggy coming up beside him. From the first time they had met, Peggy was not one to hide from danger. It wasn’t in her nature. Jimmy could only smile at his lovely wife as she caught up to him.

Bending over the fallen man, Jimmy saw that he was hurt, and turned him over tenderly.

“He may have been hit by a train,” he said gently.

“I don’t think so, darling,” Peggy said. “Look, there’s blood on his shirt.”

Jimmy pulled the shirt open and saw the bullet wound.

“Through the lung,” he grimaced. “His lungs are filled with blood already. He won’t last much longer.”

Hearing a whisper from the man’s lips, Jimmy cradled his head in his lap.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Black Ghost!” the whisper came. “Help. Black Ghost!”

Jimmy almost dropped the man’s head, and Peggy’s gasp was loud and audible.

“How did - ?” Peggy began.

“What? Jimmy requested of the dying man.

“I … I must find the Black Ghost. No one else can help! No one else … “

“Hold him, sweetheart,” Jimmy told his wife, as he stood back up.

Walking back to the coupe, Jimmy reached under the seat and pulled out a black object. This object, he pulled over his head as he walked back to the fallen man. When he bent back over the dying man, the ebony hood of the Black Ghost was staring down at the man on the ground.

“I am here,” he said, matter of factly, and pressing a hidden button, tiny lights on the hood lit up outlining the head of a ghost.

“I found you! I found you!” the dying man gasped. “Shaitan is in Crescent City. He has a deadly virus he plans to release on America in a terrorist attack. You must stop him!”

“Who are you?” Jimmy demanded softly.

A cough, and blood ran from the dying man’s lips. “Benson,” he said. “FBI. Stop Shaitan. Only you can stop the mad man.”

A final gasp, and agent Benson was dead. But he had passed on his important message. He had notified the Black Ghost.

Moving the body to the side of the road, Jimmy removed the hood once more as he and Peggy got back into the coupe. Starting the car’s engine again, Jimmy looked at his wife before putting it into gear. “This has been a direct challenge to the Black Ghost, dear. How fate found us on this lonely stretch of road, I do not know, but I do know that I will answer this challenge. Tomorrow, the Black Ghost will travel to Crescent City.”

“We will travel to Crescent City, darling,” Peggy advised her husband. “But what about Benson’s body?”

“We’ll make an anonymous telephone call from a roadside station. The police will notify the FBI. There is no need in anyone knowing that the Black Ghost is involved.”

“Thank goodness, your father won’t be involved in this case,” Peggy said. “He has no jurisdiction in Crescent City!”

A soft laugh floated back to the now still body of Benson. The foreboding laugh of the Black Ghost, a promise that his death would be avenged!