The Avenger 35 - The Iron Skull by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online Page A

wall, Nevins,” ordered the Iron Skull. “I don’t want this room burning down around our ears.”
    Nevins gave an anxious look around, then slapped at the blackening smoldering spot with his bare hands.
    Letting out a ratcheting sigh, the Iron Skull sank back into his wheelchair. “I rebuilt my right lung as well,” he said to Cole. “When I become annoyed, as I often must, it causes a slight shortness of breath.”
    “Oh, really?” said Cole, poker-faced.
    Nevins blew on his singed palm, then thrust it into his armpit. “I really must protest this,” he told the Iron Skull.
    “If you continue to, you’ll join Clareson on the carpet.”
    “But . . . how can you expect us to continue our work when you—”
    “Our work will continue,” the Iron Skull assured him. “Now get out of here, and take that doddering idiot’s body with you.”
    “You know I don’t like to touch—”
    “Do it!”
    Nevins nodded his head a few times. He got a grip on the frail old man’s corpse and dragged him over to the door.
    “You’re wrinkling that rug, Nevins, be careful.”
    Cole left his armchair and opened the door for Nevins. “Allow me, old chap.”
    When Nevins and the dead man were gone, the Iron Skull said, “You can see that I’m in need of qualified assistants.”
    Cole sat down again. “I don’t like to get involved in labor-management squabbles.”
    The Iron Skull intertwined his real and his metal fingers.
    “I can use a man with your qualifications, Wilson.”
    “You mean you’d like me to work with you?”
    “Yes, exactly.”
    Cole rubbed his chin. “I don’t know,” he said. “The working conditions don’t sound that good. And you seem to have a pretty abrupt retirement plan.”
    “Let me put it to you this way,” said the Iron Skull. “If you do not agree to work with me, you will die at once. Die in a manner similar to that idiot Clareson.”
    “Okay, I understand that side of the coin. And if I do agree to lend a hand?”
    “You will live awhile longer.”
    “I got better job offers than this when I was a kid during the Depression,” said Cole, grinning. “And another thing . . . you’ve got two of my friends locked up in your dungeon. “What about them?”
    “I have no long-range use for them.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “Meaning they will live until I decide to kill them,” answered the Iron Skull. “I kept MacMurdie alive because I was awaiting the outcome of a certain mission. I know that now, and so there is really no earthly reason for his continued existence.”
    “Mac’s a pretty handy chap to have around a laboratory,” Cole said. “So is Josh.”
    “I won’t work with a black man,” said the Iron Skull, “no matter how brilliant he may be.” He started rolling toward the door Nevins had used. “Any more discussion of this particular matter will only annoy me. Come along, Wilson, I wish to show you something.”

    Cole looked at himself. “By golly,” he said, “I never thought I’d get to see myself as others see me. And there I am.”
    The Iron Skull chuckled, deep in his partially metal throat. “I thought you’d be impressed.”
    Standing against the wall of the white-walled lab was a robot which was a perfect replica of Cole Wilson. It even had the mocking grin touching his face now. The mechanism was dressed in a fashionable gray suit.
    Taking a few steps back, Cole made a frame of his hands and studied the robot with cocked head. “Seems to me I wear my clothes with a bit more verve, but not bad . . . not bad.”
    “Glad to hear that, old man,” said the robot. “It’s part of the code of the Wilsons to be natty.”
    Cole’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, he’s already finished, is he?”
    “Except for a few more tests, yes,” said the Iron Skull.
    “Fit as a fiddle, old fellow,” said the robot, grinning at Cole.
    Cole turned his back on him. “I can see why some people don’t take to me immediately on first meeting,” he said. “What’s