Chapter Three: Bronze Huntress
Like a colossus, the skyscraper towered over the City of Manhattan. A gleaming spike of steel and brick over one hundred stories tall, topped by a dirigible mooring mast, it dwarfed the structures around it into insignificance.
On the 86th floor of this impressive building, an elevator door opened. Her face flush with excitement, an entrancing Venus stepped out. Walking towards the end of the corridor, Pat Savage approached a door on which a bronze colored panel said simply, "CLARK SAVAGE, JR." Before she could reach it, it swung open automatically.
The 86th floor of the skyscraper--the top floor, the remainder of the structure's height being composed of the mooring mast--was the headquarters of the Man of Bronze and his aides. Or, at any rate, their headquarters when they were in New York. That they were absent from the Big Apple did not pose any problems for the bronze man's cousin; in fact, it made her task much easier.
The door's opening mechanism had been activated by a radioactive token carried by Pat in her purse. Doc and his crew all carried such tokens and, somewhat grudgingly Pat had felt at the time, Doc had given Pat one as well. Entering the reception room of Doc's HQ, Pat swiftly turned off the traps which Doc had set for any unwary and unwelcome intruders before continuing on into Doc's laboratory.
The Man of Bronze was one of the world's greatest inventors, and in his 86th floor aerie he maintained a laboratory which had only one equal--a secret lab contained in his Fortress of Solitude in the North Pole, to which he would periodically retire. Here, high above the city, Doc Savage, sometimes working alone, sometimes working with Monk and Long Tom--who were among the world's leading experts in chemistry and electricity--had designed devices decades ahead of their time. Although many of these inventions had been created for peaceful uses to benefit mankind, a number were destructive in nature, and it was for these that Pat had come.
Following the car chase, Pat had returned to the salon to find that, while some windows had been blown out in the blast, the damage was minimal. Melissa was relieved to find Pat unharmed, as the airwaves were full of reports, not only on the explosion, but on a running gunfight, which Melissa had deduced involved her thrillseeking lover. As of yet, the radio had offered no explanation for the destruction of the building, and there had been no mention of anyone being kidnapped--notwithstanding that Pat had seen a handcuffed man forced into one of the sedans.
Pat spent some time at the salon arranging for repairs to be made. Then, leaving her capable young assistant with further instructions regarding the establishment, Pat left for her apartment.
Reaching home without further incident, Pat had taken a quick shower to unwind a bit before planning her next moves. Then, dismissing a skirt and blouse as impractical for the task at hand, she put on pants and a shirt. Tucked into her pants, the shirt was pulled taut over her impressive chest, molding itself to her proud, jutting breasts, and she had turned more than one head as she had left her building late afternoon and caught a taxi to her cousin's hangout. As far as Pat was concerned, the fun was just beginning--trouble had reared its head and with Doc out of town, there was no one to stop her from jumping into it feet first. She loved it. However, when looking for trouble it was best to be prepared, and Pat knew just where to go to solve that problem.
In Doc's laboratory, Pat made a beeline for some storage cabinets. On her way there though, she paused for a moment, a devilish grin lighting up her countenance making her even more radiant, as she spied a table in the lab. She wondered to herself with a silent laugh what her esteemed cousin would think if he knew that not more than three weeks ago, she had lain stretched out on that very same table, half-naked, while Monk rammed his hard cock up her tight wet pussy. Stopping by the lab to see Doc, he had briefly been called away, leaving her alone for a short while with her lover. The idea had come to both her and Monk at the same time. Clothing flew. In a matter of moments she and Monk were enjoying a spirited fuck, the sexual sensations heightened by the forbidden location of their romp. Long bronzed legs wrapped around her lover, Pat had quickly and noisily cum as Monk plumbed her depths with his thick dick, pinning her ass down against the hard desk as he slammed into her wet and willing body. With a roar, Monk had deposited a load of jism deep into her dripping pussy a short time later. They had just straightened everything back up when her cousin returned. Pat had barely kept from succumbing to an attack of the giggles as she had talked to Doc, speculating to herself about the look of shock that would have crossed his impassive face if he had known that not only had Monk's cum just filled her cunt, it was now beginning to slowly drip out of her moist slit and down the inside of her muscular thighs. Fortunately, she had left his lofty abode with the Man of Bronze none the wiser.
With a sigh, Pat continued on through the lab--now was no time to reminisce! Opening a storage cabinet, Pat withdrew several items, including one of Doc's equipment vests. These vests contained an amazing array of devices which had gotten Doc out of any number of jams. Slipping the vest on over her shirt, Pat immediately felt a great deal more confident about her planned course of action.
From the cabinet, Pat crossed over to a secret compartment. This compartment concealed a pneumatic passenger tube which Monk had nicknamed the "flea run." Once inside the passenger car, the contraption plummeted earthwards with blinding speed past 86 floors, down into the sub-basement of the skyscraper. The Man of Bronze had spent a fortune designing and implementing the system, only one of several ways he had constructed of exiting his headquarters secretly and in haste.
Entering the car, Pat hurtled downwards but instead of stopping at the bottom, the tube curved, shooting its occupant westward under the streets of the city. Above, the life of New York City went on, pedestrians and drivers alike bustling about their business, street vendors hawking their wares, completely unaware that beneath their feet a pneumatic tube was carrying a passenger through the metropolis at a speed they could only dream about. Finally, the passenger car slowed and came to a stop. It had reached its destination on 34th Street by the Hudson River.
Exiting the car, Pat found herself in a cavernous warehouse. If one had been travelling with the bronze beauty and had ventured outside, he would have seen a gigantic construct of red brick, with no windows, bearing the sign HIDALGO TRADING COMPANY. It would not have looked terribly impressive. Inside, however, the warehouse was filled with a bewildering array of vehicles, ranging from various types of aircraft, including a dirigible, to an assortment of boats and ships. The Hidalgo Trading Company was wholly owned by Doc Savage, and the warehouse housed the incredible mix of vehicles--many of his own design--which he had assembled to assist him in his fight against crime. It was here that Pat had come to obtain the final piece needed for her plan.
Moving stealthily through the yawning structure, Pat reached her destination, an autogyro. Swiftly she stowed the gear she had obtained from Doc's headquarters, before doing a quick once-over of the vehicle to make sure there weren't any problems. For obvious reasons, Doc maintained his fleet in tiptop shape, but for once in her life, Pat decided to err on the side of caution.
