The Challenger
Creator
Jeff Deischer
Characters
Challenger
Billie Elliott
Doc Mooney
Junior Bond
Vincent Lawrence
Justice Jones
Hollister Martin
Challenger appeared to be around thirty
years of age. He was above medium height, though he was not a giant by any
means. His features were somewhat thin: gray eyes that were little more than
slits, narrow nose, thin lips, high cheekbones and narrow jawline. His skin was
tanned, but not dark. He had a broad, high forehead. Above his lean, placid
face sat a shock of red. Challenger was broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. He
was dressed in a plain navy business suit. This was padded in such a way as to
be unnoticeable; it concealed a special belt beneath, with small padded pockets
that held a variety of gadgets Challenger used in his work of helping others.
There was great power coiled beneath it, even in repose; Challenger gave the
impression of a great cat ready to pounce.
Challenger lived up to the rumors about
him. It was said he’d been done a great wrong long ago, and had, as a result,
dedicated his life to helping others in the same position. The source of his
vast wealth, no one knew. He did not accept remuneration for his services.
There had been much speculation about his
identity, in the short time since he’d first appeared, several months earlier.
Some said he was a soldier who’d been pronounced dead in the World War, which
had ended the year before, and hid his identity for reasons unknown; others
that he had something to hide. No one but three of his five assistants knew the
true identity of Challenger.
Challenger was also known as Jonathon
Alexander. This was little used. It was also an alias.
Challenger had falsely been convicted of a
crime some twenty years earlier. In prison he had met Paul Alexander, the
father of the true Jonathon. The son had been killed by criminals and the
father sent to prison for the murder. Having hidden away an untold fortune –
which was what the criminals had been after -- Paul Alexander promised half of
it to Challenger in exchange for help escaping. The old man had died in the
attempt, leaving the money to Challenger -- who assumed the son’s identity to
bring his killers to justice. Then he went after the men who had sent him to
prison
Challenger had brought them to justice -- a
justice, at any rate. It was during this time he had acquired his first three
aides, all of whom had known him before. The four dedicated themselves to
helping others who were unable to help themselves against great evil. In the months
since that time had Challenger Island been established.
Challenger Island was little more than a
rock jutting up out of the waters of New York City’s East River. Atop this crag
sat a factory. Long since abandoned, it had recently been refurbished by the
man known as Challenger.
The
factory building, which was located on the north side of the tiny island, was
vaguely semi-circular; it was arch-shaped, with a raised spine. This structure
had been transformed into a hangar and boathouse, having been extended some
fifty feet out over the water towards Manhattan. The administrative building
was a long rectangular box that shot out perpendicular to the long axis of the
factory, running towards the south, and served as Challenger’s headquarters. It
contained a large laboratory that abutted the hangar-boathouse, offices at the
south end of the building, and, on the second storey, living quarters. Atop
this building perched a small tower which was the nerve center of Challenger’s
operation; it consisted of a single large meeting room. From this little tower
rose a powerful radio mast.
A motorcycle whizzed along nearby, not
altogether at the behest of its driver, a young woman. Dressed like a World War
I aviator, with fur-lined leather jacket, leather cap and over-sized goggles,
she guided the machine as best she could along the icy road.
In the sidecar, a man gripped the rim of
the compartment as tightly as he could. Sitting down low in the sidecar, he had
something of the appearance of a child, at first glance, due to his small
stature -- and the fact that he was passenger to a woman driver. But he was no
youth. He was easily old enough to be the athletic young woman’s father. His
plump face was red and frozen in a grim expression, more from a determination to
survive the journey than from the temperature. A gaudy red scarf was wrapped
around his lower face, and an ancient derby perched precariously atop his bald
pate, threatening to become dislodged with every jostle of the motorcycle.
Without looking at his companion, he asked grimly, “Are you going to drive this
thing year round, Billie?” His voice was slightly nasal, had a naturally gruff
whine to it.
“It
was summer yesterday, Doc,” snipped Billie Elliott laconically. “This is the
first time I’ve had to drive this thing in snow.”
Doc
Mooney, the old man in the sidecar, did not reply. It appeared to take all of
his concentration to hold on for his life. Despite being bundled up for the
weather, the little man shivered, more out of spite than cold. He wasn’t happy
unless he had something to complain about, Billie knew, so she took his comment
in stride.
As
her rescuers unbundled, Tammy Lott got a better look at them: Billie Elliott
was an attractive young woman with straw-colored hair that was cut in a short
bob, in the style of the flappers in the twenties. Her features were delicate,
elfin, with large chocolate brown eyes, narrow nose and pleasant mouth.
Old Doc Mooney stood exactly five feet
tall, was a bit stocky and bald as they came. His ears, nose and mouth were all
a little bit big for his face. Everything except his eyes, which were small and
bright. His head and hands seemed too large for his small frame, and all these
features combined to give him a sort of a cartoonish appearance.
When it slowed to a stop inside the
boathouse, the tug carrying Tammy Lott, Billie Elliott and Doc Mooney was met
by another of Challenger’s assistants. He was a blond young man dressed in a
plain dark blue business suit. He stood waiting on the dock when the ferry pulled
up to it; Billie had radioed ahead from the ferry that they were on their way
over with a guest.
As Tammy Lott stepped from the ferry, the
man on the dock -- a rather handsome young man who smiled broadly at her, Tammy
now saw at this close distance; she estimated his age to be close to hers, just
over twenty-one -- proffered a hand. “Hello, I’m Bill Bond,” he said as he
helped her onto the dock, watching her intently with keen eyes. “I’m one of
Challenger’s assistants. Everyone calls me ‘Junior’.”
It
was only after examining him did Tammy Lott see the other two men in the room,
Challenger’s remaining aides.
One was a tall, distinguished-looking
gentleman who had something of a foxy face, long and lean with a narrow nose.
He was rather bony and dressed in an expensive-looking suit. Offering his hand,
he said smoothly, “My name is Vincent Lawrence. A pleasure to meet you.”
Vincent was an attorney, one of the
nation’s best, and reading people was part of his business. When he read pretty
Tammy Lott, he saw someone who was scared.
The other man was huge. He stood over six
and a half feet tall, and was nearly three feet wide. Everything about him was
big -- shoulders, hands, feet. He was a Negro. He nodded politely to Tammy as
she looked up at him. “I’m Henry Justice Jones,” he said in a rich, deep voice.
Challenger’s final aide, Professor
Hollister Martin was not present; he had been detained in the city, teaching a
History class at Metropolitan University.
“Excuse me,” said Professor Hollister Martin. Bespectacled
and possessing formidable gray eyebrows and a beak of a nose, he somewhat gave
the appearance of an owl. He had a bit of a paunch, which stuck out both above
and below his belt, which was tightly cinched. No word but “soft” described him
so well. As a museum curator, he had been the victim of a master criminal, and
had joined Challenger’s band to help prevent this from happening to others.
“I’m new to all this, but shouldn’t we be looking at motive? That will help us
narrow down our list of suspects.”
The
Challenger and his assistants have appeared in the novel The Winter Wizard
and the short story “Challenger and the Fellowship of the Flame”, in the
collection The Little Book of Short Stories, both by Jeff Deischer.
