Batman Versus the Fearsome Foursome Read online

  “Keeping busy, eh Quetch?” the Joker asked.

  “I’ll say I am. I feel like a one-man band.”

  “Well, you won’t be on duty much longer. Morgan will relieve you in ten minutes. Keep up the good work. Commander Redhead is convinced that he’s in his cabin on his yacht.”

  Quetch grinned. “Aye, aye, Joker,” he said. He reached up and pulled a cord.

  The foghorn blew.

  When the Joker returned to the headquarters room of the United Underworld, the simmering feud between his three compatriots in crime had begun to cool.

  “After all,” the Catwoman was purring, “we’re in this together. We have the whole world almost in our grasp.”

  “Only Batman and Robin are still alive to block us,” said the Riddler. “That’s what makes me so angry!”

  The Penguin smiled impishly. “By now, that cursed Dynamic Duo must have an inkling as to how we made that ship disappear. Unless I miss my guess, they’ll be ready to check up on their theory. And when they do…”

  The Joker said, “For once, Penguin, you’re not talking like a featherbrained bird. When Batman and Robin go to investigate, we’ll be there waiting. And that will be our chance to rid ourselves of those two forever!”

  “May I make a suggestion, gentlemen?” the Catwoman asked.

  “By all means, my dear,” answered the Penguin, removing his top hat to make a sweeping courtly bow.

  The Catwoman said in a sharper tone, “If we intend to be on the scene before Batman and Robin get there, we’d better waste no time. It’s been my experience that they are usually at least one step ahead of where we think they are.”

  The Penguin replaced his top hat firmly on his head.

  “An excellent suggestion. I’ll call our secret dock at the river bottom immediately—and tell them to prepare the submarine for sea!”

  In a completely dark Batcave, Batman and Robin bent tensely over a film-developing tank. They were wearing dark goggles and rubber gloves. The darkness was illuminated only by the red glow from the developing machine which produced superfine Batgrain reproductions of photographs.

  The tank began to gurgle noisily. Batman, without taking his glance from the tank, reached out to throw a switch on a timing device. After a few more seconds a bell rang to indicate that the developed film was ready for viewing.

  Robin said, “Here it comes now, Batman.” He read a dial on the machine. “These pictures were taken automatically by the Batcamera in the Batcopter as we approached the yacht from an altitude of eight hundred and thirty-nine feet.”

  A dried glossy print slipped out neatly into a receptacle below the developing tank. Robin picked it up quickly as Batman turned off the developer and switched on the lights in the Batcave.

  Robin pushed up his goggles in astonishment. “Holy Merlin-the-Magician!” he said.

  “What’s wrong, Robin?”

  Wordlessly Robin showed the dry print to Batman. The photograph showed nothing but a wide expanse of empty and choppy ocean!

  Robin said, “I figured the other snapshots might have been taken from an angle which didn’t include the yacht. But I know this picture was taken when the Batcamera was aimed right at the yacht. And there isn’t anything there!”

  Batman pursed his lips as he examined the photo. “It proves that my hunch was right, Robin.”

  “You-you expected this? I don’t get it, Batman.”

  Batman placed his goggles in a rack. He was silent for a moment before he said, “Think about it, Robin. No one can make a seagoing vessel simply disappear. Certainly no vessel as large as Commander Redhead’s yacht. What explanation does that leave?”

  “You mean…the yacht never really was there?”

  Batman nodded approvingly. “Precisely. The yacht was a mere illusion. It was a projected image, something like the common desert mirage. The image deceived our naked eyes but couldn’t deceive the Batcamera’s Polarized Batfilter.”

  “Where did the projection come from, Batman?”

  “I’ve given some thought to that. I think I know where. Come this way.”

  Batman led the way to a bench. He laid the dried photo out flat on the bench and swung a magnifying lens over it. He peered through, and after a moment yielded his. place to Robin.

  “Observe,” he told the Boy Wonder. “That bell buoy.”

  “What about it?”

  “We’d better check its position.” Batman frowned in concentration. “Let’s see. The coordinates are…one-ten-point-three by six-nine-dash-B. Quickly, Robin. Feed those figures into our Navigational Aid Computer.”

  Robin hurried to the Navigational Aid Computer nearby. He tapped out the figures that Batman had given to him on the bank of keys before he pressed a button. There was a whirring sound as the machine performed intricate mathematical calculations. When the answer was ready, a light flashed.

  Robin snatched up a slip of paper on which the answer was punched out. “The computer says there is no legal bell buoy at that position!”

  “Just as I surmised,” Batman replied. “The bell buoy is clever camouflage for a projection device. Come on, Robin. We’d better check up—fast. To the Batboat!”

  A few minutes later the Batmobile deposited Batman and Robin at an ugly-looking section of Gotham City.

  Old railroad ties were rusting in piles of black-red metal, and flotsam floated on the nearby river. A tumble-down wooden shack bore a sign: THIS BUILDING IS ABANDONED PRIVATE PROPERTY. STRICTLY NO TRESPASSING<.

  Batman and Robin raced to the shed on the water’s edge. Batman turned a knob on a cobwebbed black box fastened to the side of the shed and almost hidden in tall weeds.

  Inside, machinery whirred. Then the front of the shed lowered and the amazing Batboat appeared on a track.

  The prow of the boat was shaped like a bat’s head and the sleek sides were like a bat’s wings folded back. Batman and Robin leaped into the cockpit. The Batwings folded out, beat the air, and shot the boat forward off the tracks and into the water. The boat’s bottom barely seemed to touch the waves, skipping from crest to crest as though on hydrofoils. In mid-river the boat executed a sharp right-angle turn, throwing up a huge curtain of spray as it set off on a new course.

  “Atomic hydrothrust,” Batman ordered.

  Robin was watching the instruments closely. “Port and starboard thrusters ready. Lights green.”

  “Set stabilizers. Thrust level—twelve.”

  “Aye, aye, Batman!”

  The Batwings on the side of the wondrous little craft folded over and down to project out from the sides a few inches under the water. This enabled them to act as stabilizers to hold the boat steady when it executed maneuvers at superspeed.

  “Brace yourself, Robin,” Batman said. “I’m turning on full power. FULL AHEAD!”

  The Batboat appeared to resemble a guided missile as it launched forward at terrific speed. Soon it became a blur of motion and light, racing past a powerboat as though the other craft were standing still, whizzing under the mighty arch of the Jefferson Bridge. Within seconds the Batboat was leaving Gotham City Harbor behind and heading for the open sea.

  At the helm, Batman handled the wheel with the ease and assurance of a maestro evoking from super-engines every nuance of power. From the laconic tone of his conversation with Robin in the cockpit one would never have guessed that they were traveling at speeds far beyond any ever attained by the swiftest oceangoing craft.

  “We should be getting near, Robin. Batradar ready?”

  “Roger! I’ve got it locked onto that phony bell buoy.”

  “What’s the range to the buoy?”

  Robin checked the Batradarscope. “Ten-five-one-six.”

  “Keep a sharp watch for suspicious vessels in the vicinity.”

  “Aye, aye. So far, it looks as though we’ve got the whole ocean to ourselves.”

  The Batboat roared on.

  The presence of the Batboat was known.

  At a depth of se
veral hundred feet below the surface, a quarter of a mile distant from the bell buoy, a submarine hung silently in the deep.

  At the sonar set in the control room, the rough-looking, burly sailor known as Bluebeard held the earphones tight against his ears.

  He exclaimed, “Unidentified small craft bearing one-one-three!”

  The Penguin had been nearby leaning on his umbrella and puffing jauntily at his cigarette. He suddenly snapped to attention.

  “How fast is it approaching, Bluebeard?”

  Bluebeard listened to his sonar set. The beep-beeping sounds increased in frequency with every second. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “No boat can travel that fast!”

  “Ha!” said the Penguin. “Just as I thought. It’s Batman and Robin!”

  The Riddler laughed. “They’re racing into our trap. Just as we planned!”

  The Joker said sourly, “Let’s hope so. It all depends on whether the Penguin knows what he’s doing. I don’t like this arrangement, where he’s the boss at sea. He’s no better qualified as a seaman than I am.”

  “Don’t be petty, Joker, if you please,” said the Catwoman. “The Penguin is a better aquatic bird than any of the rest of us. Certainly more than I. You know how cats hate the water!”

  The Penguin snapped orders to the piratical Morgan and Quetch nearby at the submarine’s steering controls.

  “Diving planes. Up three degrees.” He reached for the microphone. “Quack-quack! This is your captain, the Penguin speaking. Now hear this, my pretty-pinioned pirates. We’re approaching the bell buoy.”

  “Who do you think you’re impressing with that idiotic approach?” the Joker asked. “There’s no one else on board but the people in this room. We can all hear you without benefit of the public address system.”

  “On land, others may command,” the Penguin answered stiffly. “At sea, it’s me. We’ll do things the way I like. Now hear this! We are going to approach the bell buoy, and we’ll be on hand when Batman and Robin show up. Shine up your cutlasses, my pretties.”

  “Our—what?” asked the Joker sarcastically.

  “There might be skullduggery afoot,” said the Penguin.

  “If there is any skullduggery, we won’t do our dirty work with cutlasses. Try to keep up with the times, will you Penguin? I think you’ve read Treasure Island one time too many!”

  The Penguin gave the Joker a chilly glance with his monocled eye. Then he turned to the Riddler.

  “Hold her steady, Mr. Riddler! Up periscope,” he commanded.

  The Riddler passed the order on to Morgan and Quetch. As the submarine rose toward the surface, the Penguin brought the periscope viewer down to eye level. He peered through it at the cross-haired sight.

  “Great heavenly ice floes,” he exclaimed. “Just as I hoped, Mr. Riddler—look!”

  The Riddler took the Penguin’s place at the periscope viewer. After a single glance he pulled his head away.

  He gave a joyous shout. “Torpedoes! Torpedoes! What are we waiting for?”

  The Penguin answered drily, “Let’s not be hasty, Mr. Riddler. The Batboat would prove too elusive a target. If they saw the torpedoes coming Batman and Robin might maneuver out of danger. So we’ll bide our time—until Batman and Robin are on the bell buoy itself.”

  “And we’ll blow them to kingdom come!” exulted the Riddler. “Penguin, I’ve got to hand it to you. You’re a smart old bird.”

  The Penguin’s chest expanded at this praise. He stroked his buttonless waistcoat as though preening feathers.

  The submarine’s engines stopped. The sleek cigar-shaped vessel hung motionless beneath the ocean surface, its torpedo tubes pointed at its target—the bell buoy.

  The Batboat pulled alongside the gently rolling buoy. At close range it appeared to be a conventional buoy, with a platform base, a six-foot-high tripod, and a bell at the top.

  Robin poised himself at the bow of the Batboat and jumped nimbly to the buoy platform.

  As Robin made the Batboat fast to the buoy, Batman leaped over to the platform to join Robin. Robin was already peering down through the hollow center of the buoy platform.

  “Look here, Batman!”

  Batman joined him to look down through the hollow core. “It’s an underwater shark cage. This must be where they kept that fiendish fish…”

  “What cruelty,” Robin said, and his cheek muscles knotted with anger. “Stuffing a poor shark with an explosive charge of TNT.”

  “If human life means nothing to those devils, you can’t expect them to worry about fish. Nothing’s sacred to them, Robin.”

  Batman and Robin had been busy dusting different areas of the buoy and examining them with magnifying glasses for fingerprints.

  “It’s a slender hope, Robin. Salt and corrosion probably erased all prints. But there do seem to be smudge prints above. Near that tricky Mirage Projector.”

  Robin scrambled up the tripod to the spot that Batman indicated. At the top was an intricate camera and projector attachment concealed within the bell.

  “No fingerprints up here,” he reported. “But—wow!—what a set of superpower lenses! This is really clever apparatus, Batman.”

  As Robin looked off from his tripod vantage point, he suddenly lost interest in the Mirage Projector and in trying to find fingerprints.

  “Holy Long John Silver!” he blurted. “I see something out there. It—it looks like a pirate periscope.”

  “Where?”

  Batman looked in the direction that Robin pointed. Less than a quarter of a mile away the black snout of a submarine periscope protruded above the water. A small skull-and-crossbones flag fluttered from the periscope.

  “It has to be them, Batman. It has to be!”

  Batman’s reply was outwardly calm. But there was clear tension in his voice: “You’d better get down right away, Robin. I think we’re in for trouble!”

  Inside the submarine’s command room the Penguin had his eyes still glued to the periscope viewer.

  “They’ve spotted us,” he announced. “Set the torpedoes to Automatic Homing. Kindly activate the Remote Control Magnet inside that buoy.”

  The Riddler was dancing with impatience. “You crazy bird,” he said. “Fire them off. Quickly!”

  “Mr. Joker,” said the Penguin calmly.

  “Yes?”

  “You have the honor of firing the first torpedo.”

  “Oh, thank you, Penguin.”

  The Joker rubbed his hands with anticipation. He assumed a position beside the firing button to await the command.

  The Penguin said calmly, “Fire the first torpedo.”

  “What a delicious moment,” said the Joker. He pushed the button with a gloved long index finger. “Fire one!”

  The Catwoman smiled sadly, and stroked the cat Hecate in her arms.

  “Full fathom five shall Batman lie,” she said.

  From the nose of the submarine a torpedo shot out, sending millions of foaming bubbles back from the wake.

  On the bell buoy, Batman helped Robin down to the platform.

  “Quick! We have to get back to the Batboat.”

  “You’re not kidding,” Robin said. “Look what’s coming our way.”

  A deadly streak of white cut the green water on its way toward the bell buoy.

  “A torpedo!” Batman bent quickly to untie the Batboat.

  It was at this moment that disaster struck.

  The bell buoy gave off a loud buzzing, zapping sound.

  Batman and Robin felt the tingle of electric power in the metal platform beneath their feet. The next instant, a tremendous invisible force appeared to seize them and flung them toward the tripod.

  Robin was slammed tight against the metal.

  “Holy glue pot!” he exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

  Batman was also pinned against the tripod.

  As he struggled to break the terrible grip that held him, Batman gasped, “They’ve converted this buoy into a gigantic mag
net.”

  “Then we’re finished, Batman,” Robin said. “The torpedo is going to strike the buoy at any moment!”

  Indeed the approaching torpedo was visible scarcely thirty yards away, coming on directly toward its target.

  Batman said calmly, “Robin, do exactly as I tell you. Reach down with your free foot and hook my utility belt transmitter from its pouch.”

  Twisting and turning, Robin managed to work his leg to the air at a level with Batman’s utility belt. He reached across carefully with his foot and hooked the little strap of the utility belt radio. Even though time was rapidly running out, he worked with deliberate caution. To make the slightest mistake now would be fatal, he knew, and though his nerves screamed for faster action, he forced himself to be sure of each movement.

  Robin lifted his leg carefully until his foot dangled the utility belt radio directly in front of Batman’s face. Batman succeeded in getting his teeth around the controls. He managed to move the dials.

  He grunted, “If I can reverse the polarity…make the Batradio send out waves of superenergy…”

  A final supreme effort wrenched the dial control around.

  The radio instantly gave off a high-pitched, almost inaudible wail, rising and falling like an air raid siren pitched at an unendurable high note. Immediately an intense yellow-blue flame flickered around the little radio transmitter.

  Too late, Robin thought, as he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the rending explosion to come.

  BAROOOM!

  CHAPTER 4

  A huge spout of water rose from the ocean. The buoy heeled over until it was almost horizontal. A torrential spray of water inundated Batman and Robin.