# 207
"Making a Dishonest Dollar":
By Mikel Midnight
The Gyrosub soars through the air, the awkwardness of its egg-like shape belied by its speed. Spy Smasher peers downwards through the windshield, eyes narrowed. He had hoped his visit to his allies in the Squadron of Justice in Fawcett City, far from his native Washington D.C., would be uneventful. He should have known better.
Below him, a truck is stopped on a bridge over a river, its front end rammed partway into the metal barrier at the side of the bridge. From the back, someone in the truck jettisons its cargo into the river. Spy Smasher descends slowly for a closer look.
The cases which had been jettisoned from the broken-down truck and tossed into the river break open, and the river carries along several kings' ransoms is slightly soggy $5, $10, and $20 notes. The local people quickly start collecting these, which they spread out in the fields to dry, carefully guarding them all the while.
Spy Smasher ignores the locals for now and descends to street level, landing some yards from the rear of the truck. He approaches the back of the truck to see a pair of large, burly men tossing the boxes overboard. "What's all this then?" he announces.
"Gott in Himmel! Der Spy Smasher!" shouts one of the men. He leaps off the back of the truck, heading straight towards the mysteryman. Spy Smasher places his hands on the man's shoulders and rolls backwards, using the larger man's inertia to flip him head-first into the street. Barely has he time to react further when the second man is standing aside him, kicking him in the rips. Spy Smasher grabs ahold of his ankle, braces himself against the ground and uprights himself. As his opponent trips backwards, he falls forward atop the larger man, landing with his fist in the other man's face. "Death to spies in America!"
Spy Smasher stands up, brushing his hands against one another as if dusting them off. "So," he says, looking at his unconscious opponents. "Let's take a look at your registration." He walks to the driver's side of the front seat, only to find himself staring at the business end of a revolver.
Stupid, amateurish, he thinks to himself. He blinks as he recognises the sinister, bearded man wearing a cheap suit. "Vikranz," he mutters. "Who's your friend?" he enquires, gesturing towards the veiled, white-clad woman seated aside him.
"Never you mind," spits Vikranz in German-accented English. "I should have known this misfortune would have attracted you like a fly to honey. Now, raise your arms and back way slowly."
Spy Smasher follows along, eyes narrowed, waiting for a chance to turn the tables. Gun never leaving the mysteryman, Vikranz slowly descends from the car, the white-clad woman following silently. "You know," says the Nazi, "I always try to construct elaborate death-traps for you, or capture you alive to bring to my masters in Germany. Perhaps that's been my mistake." He cocks the gun, aiming at Spy Smasher's heart. "Auf weidershin."
"Bernie," says the woman in white. Vikranz turns his head slightly, as if annoyed by the use of the name. "What is it?" he asks irritably.
"Eat fist, spy," she says, small but strong hand knocking the gun from his wrist, and another landing straight on his chin.
Spy Smasher lowers his arms. "It seems I'm in your debt, Miss ... ?"
The woman removes the veil from her face, revealing a sultry beauty. "Luna White. And I just blew a cover I spent months establishing, I hope you turn out to be worth it."
Spy Smasher leans against the bridge railing, "I plan to. I assume the money is counterfeit?"
Luna White nods, "Of course."
Spy Smasher says, "We'll let the local police handle Vikranz and his lot. I'm on my way to visit some old friends, I think you ought to tell whatever story you have to them as well."
"A fascinating story," comments Bulletman, in the headquarters of the Squadron of Justice. "Vikranz is an old foe of yours?" he enquires of Spy Smasher.
Spy Smasher shakes his head. "I had seen his photos in government files. They only listed his alias, not his real name, which according to Miss White is ... Bernie?"
Luna White's eyes follow the conversation attentively, as if memorising everything said around her. "That's what I called him. His real name is Bernard Kruger. He is in charge of manufacturing forged documents for the numerous branches of the German secret service, such as passports, driver's licenses, ration books, identity cards, and the like. He has an effective forgery establishment and can call upon the resources of the Reichsbank."
"Sounds like a bad'un for sure," notes Golden Arrow, also visiting from his usual haunts out West.. "But why were they dumping all that forged money?"
"They had planned to bring $1.5 billion in forged bills into the USA," says Luna White. "Both to fund their own subversive efforts and to help destabilise the American economy by contributing to inflation. But they realised the accident would attract the police, so they dumped the evidence."
Spy Smasher scowls. "Typical Nazis, just as stupid as they are worthless and evil. I'm glad they're behind bars."
Luna White shrugs. "Nobody's free of redeeming qualities, even Vikranz. If he had been, I wouldn't have been able to stick with this case as long as I had. One of his sidelines was keeping Jews from being gassed by finding them jobs in the establishment."
Spy Smasher hrms.
Golden Arrow asks, "So what's our next move?"
Bulletman says, "There are people who know the Fawcett City counterfeiting rings better than any of us. Our next move is my making a phone call. "
Smolianov backed his way into the brownstone, his arms full of his day's grocery shopping. He stared up the flight of steps through his spectacles, grumbling to himself. With a sigh, he began the trek up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.
He carefully maneuvered his right hand into his vest pocket to withdraw his keys, shifting the heavy bags around so as not to drop them. Finally he manages to fumble the key into the lock, and back his way through the door. He kicks the door shut and then reaches for the pullcord to switch on the light.
As the room is illuminated, Smolianov gives a shout of surprise as he sees a disembodied blade hovering several inches from his face. He backs away, finally noticing the masked and tuxedoed man seated on his worktable. "D-Devil's Dagger," he gaps.
Devil's Dagger smiles, "Good to see you again Solly, been busy?"
"Solly" Smolianov shakes his head. "No sir, I been on the up-and-up."
Devil's Dagger pulls out a sheaf of $20 notes, rifling through them. "Funny you should say that. A man named Vikranz was arrested recently, and he had some counterfeit money on him. Al of which, curiously enough, was plainly done in your style. Do you have anything to say about that?" The blade hovers closer, pricking at the other's throat, and then backs away again.
Solly swallows. "Vikranz? Um, yeah, I made those plates for him. But when I found out he was with those Nazis I broke the contract. He was stiffing me on my payments anyway."
The blade whistles across the air, sliding neatly inside the tuxedo jacket. "So you say," nods the tuxedoed man. "Where is the money being made?"
Solly clutches at his throat, pulling his hand away and checking for blood from the wounded spot. "The bogus bills are being made on the French island of Martinidad whose government has been taken over by the Nazis."
"I see," says Devil's Dagger. "I'll check this information out. I'll be in touch, Solly."
"Wait!" the other man shouts. "I got more. If you promise to keep my name out of it."
Devil's Dagger smirks. "All right. You've played straight with me this time. Tell me what you have, and if it's good, I won't mention your name in connection to this case."
Solly walks over to his desk, opening a drawer and removing some crumpled photographs. He approaches the mysteryman, handing them over. "While I was there, they'd captured an American government agent, and the plans he had on him. Some kind of secret weapon, a machine capable of freezing, then melting aircraft engines on planes while in flight."
Devil's Dagger squints, the lean, athletic-looking man in the picture almost familiar. He is wearing a business suit and a trench coat. His black hair is swept back, his eyes piercing, his nose straight as a wing's leading edge.
Solly whispers, "I think his name is Jack Armstrong."
Spy Smasher scowls at the photograph. "How long ago did this Smolianov say the agent had been captured?"
Devil's Dagger raises his hands in a clueless gesture. "He didn't, but the impression he gave was not long ago, and Solly only recently returned Stateside."
Bulletman says, "If the story is true, we're going in regardless. A secret weapon like that can't be expected to fall into the hands of the Axis."
Golden Arrow dons his quiver, "We been sitting around too long waiting, it's time to get on the trail."
Luna White sighs. "I've been to Martinidad, and can guess where Armstrong is being held. The Mask and his allies are going to be difficult to get through." As she speaks she eyes Spy Smasher's visible features curiously. They resemble the young man known as Jack Armstrong almost precisely, they could be twins.
Spy Smasher glances at her harshly, "The Mask is involved? And you never mentioned this?"
Luna White blinks, "Was it relevant?"
Bulletman takes the woman aside. "The two have some long history together, I'll tell you some other time."
Under cover of night the Gyrosub, trailed by Bulletman, approaches the island. Luna White points Spy Smasher to an old barn outside of town, and he pilots it silently downwards. Before he completes his descent, the Gyrosub is caught in an eerie blue ray, suspending its flight in mid-air. Spy Smasher fights with the controls. "So much for the element of surprise," he grunts.
Bulletman circles around the frozen vehicle. "Eject! Eject!," he shouts, "I'll catch the rest!"
Spy Smasher hrms, pulls a lever and his pilot's seat shoots upwards out of the Gyrosub, whereupon his parachute opens and he floats slowly towards an abandoned grain field. Devil's Dagger, Golden Arrow, and Luna White, hands held tightly together, jump from the plain as it starts to melt, Bulletman grappling hold of the trio in mid air.
"I think it singed my hair," Luna White complains.
As the team rejoins and then approaches the agricultural structure, they note the light, new wood which has been used in obvious repairs to the original wind-weathered building. From behind the barn lurks a tall, husky man with a muscular physique. He is wearing red tights, a short-sleeved red jerkin, a red hood, and a black eye mask. On his hands are green gloves. Green boots complete the ensemble.
The bowman notches an arrow and a flurry flies through the air at the squadron. Bulletman shouts at Golden Arrow, "Cover us!"
Golden Arrow catches a point out of the air and readies his own bow. "You don't have to tell me twice."
As the squadron enters the barn they see a series or printing presses, manned by a staff of machinists who quickly scatter at the sight of the brightly colored invaders. From a back office enters what appears to be a young dashing gentleman. He wears an elegant tuxedo but his face is covered with a white mask. He glares at the squadron. "You've been brought here to do a job, so do it," he hisses behind him.
A man who wears an orange-hued suit, a gold snap-brim hat, and a gold mask over the lower half of his face with a picture of a wasp on it, follows from behind the Mask. A long gold trench coat is worn over his suit, and hides the shoulder holster that carries his pistol as he draws it at the squadron. The gun shoots gas capsules which break open, confounding the mysterymen.
Into the midst of the cloud wades a chubby little man wearing apparently a German soldier's outfit of World War I vintage. Around his eyes are a pair of aviator's goggles with opaque lenses. On his hands are spiked mail gloves. Accompanying him is a woman wearing a one-piece satin bodysuit that covers her arms, legs, and torso with a glistening purple-black sheen. A belt defines her tiny wasp waist just above the flair of supple hips. Concealing her hair, a matching cowl with tiny blue wings resembling a devil's horns above the temples leaves her strong, beautiful face exposed. A plunging v-cut neckline sweeps upward to define a flared collar. Long gloves and folded-over brown boots complete the garb.
The squadron struggles with their attackers in the confusion. Devil's Dagger sends his blade after the trenchcoated man, striking the man's hand and nailing his gas gun to the wall, before he wades in with his fists.
Bulletman spies the Mask escaping through a secured metal door. He crashes through it, following the villain through a concrete tunnel and into what appears to be a store-room. There he sees, bound to a chair, a man immediately recognisable as Jack Armstrong.
The Mask carries a .45 and directs it at the bound man. Bulletman, with his heightened strength, reaches forward to snatch the gun from the Mask's grip and free the government agent.
"Grosso, protect!" shouts the Mask. Bulletman starts to turn around, only to be caught by surprise as a giant fist smashes into him. He looks up to see a grossly fat monster, standing at about 8 feet in height with a flat head and electrodes in the neck.
"Grosso smash pointy-head man," says the creature, swinging again at Bulletman.
Jack Armstrong attacks the Mask, and the two wrestle briefly, but the former prisoner's weakened state turns out to be no match for the arch-villain's sinister skills. The Mask escapes out the door as Bulletman wrestles with the creature.
Grosso finally grabs Bulletman in a bear-hug, crushing the breath out of him. In desperation, Bulletman soars upwards, crashing Grosso's head into the concrete ceiling. The creature barely grunts, and Bulletman repeats the tactic, hammering at his opponent's skull repeatedly, until consciousness fades and the grip is loosened.
Jack Armstrong groans, "Don't worry about me, he's gone up to the roof, he's after the weapon."
Bulletman shoots upwards, following his trail, only to find on his arrival on the roof that that the battle has been joined. "Spy Smasher!" he says.
"Engaged in his favorite hobby -- smashing a spy!" says the mysteryman, as his fists pound the Mask into unconsciousness.
Bulletman watches him silently. "So everything's in control down below?"
Spy Smasher nods. "We took out America-Smasher, Dark Angel, and Golden Wasp in good time. Luna White's disappeared though ... I sense that's very much her style." He looks out into the horizon and sighs. "I had been making plans for a new model of the Gyrosub with a system of propulsion I have developed. I suppose this is the time to implement it."
Bulletman says, "We still have to - urk!" His words are broken off as an immense hand grabs him by the throat.
"Grosso smash!" bellows the monster. He tosses the stunned Bulletman to the side, and advances on Spy Smasher. The latter fires his pistol at him repeatedly, but to no effect.
An arrow appears out of nowhere, trailing a cord which connect to one of the electrodes in Grosso's neck, continuing on to pierce the control panel of the weapon. Grosso screams as the power courses into him, freezing him in place then charring his body as he collapses.
Golden Arrow walks over to join his teammates. "Ugly varmint," he says.
Bulletman sighs. "It's time to gather up Devil's Dagger. Let's go home."
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