The Death’s Head Conspiracy

by Nick Carter

  When the sling began to rise I moved aft along the rail to see who was doing the hoisting. It was my friend Fyodor Gorodin, still wearing his ice-cream suit, and directing a couple of the non-Latin crew members. Reaching under the tail of my pullover shirt, I slipped Wilhelmina out of the belt holster. With the familiar Luger gripped in my hand I took a step toward Gorodin and his friends.

  One step was all I managed. Something slammed into the back of my head, and the deck swung up and hit me like a giant fist. There was an immediate rush of sound in my head that seemed to be sucked back through my skull as everything went silent and black.

  Nine

  Strangely, at first I was only aware that my nose itched. I tried to reach up and scratch it, but my hands wouldn’t move. I opened my eyes. That’s when I became aware of my head. It hurt like one big tooth with the nerve exposed to a blast of cold air. I shut my eyes again and opened them slowly. The pain had not gone but my surroundings were coming into focus.

  I was stretched out on my back on top of a narrow bunk in a small inside stateroom. I could see that my feet were bound together with several turns of adhesive tape. My hands were crossed at the wrists behind my back; they were also taped together. On the bunk across from me was Rona Volstedt, wearing a bright striped blouse and a pair of flared slacks. Her hands and feet were also taped.

  “Glad to see you are back with us, Mr. Carter,” a heavy voice growled from somewhere at the front of the cabin. With an effort I turned my head in the direction of the voice. Fyodor Gorodin was lounging in a vinyl chair pulled out to face the two bunks. “I don’t suppose there is any point in calling you Mr. Hunter,” he continued. “That masquerade was over almost as soon as it began.”

  In front of the cabin door a young man with neatly combed brown hair sat on a folding metal chair next to a card table. I recognized the Luger he held pointed at me—Wilhelmina. I moved my arms a fraction of an inch and was not happy to feel a lack of pressure where pressure should have been. The stiletto was gone. I saw it resting under Gorodin’s belt.

  “Yes, Carter,” Gorodin rumbled, “We have your weapons. And your . . . ‘wife.’ Perhaps you will talk to us now.”

  “I don’t follow you,” I said, giving it the old college try. “My name is Nicholas Hunter.”

  Gorodin turned to the young man and snapped, “Boris, give me the card.” He snatched a five-by-seven file card from Boris’ hand and read aloud. “ ‘Nick Carter, AXE agent N3. Rating: Killmaster. Reports to David Hawk, Washington, D.C., director of AXE.’ Don’t you think our people know you by reputation. Carter? We knew when your friend Miss Volstedt phoned AXE that they were sending an agent. Perhaps if our comrades in Los Angeles had recognized you, they would have been more cautious in their pursuit.

  “Not only your reputation, but your face is known to some of us who have been given copies of your photo, Carter. The captain recognized you when you came aboard with the woman in Antigua. He informed me by radio, and you have been watched ever since. When I came aboard, we knew you would make your move soon, and we were ready for you.”

  “All right, Gorodin,” I said, abandoning the game, “what do you want?”

  “You know my name too I see. Well, that was to be expected. What I want is very simple. First, I want you to tell me all that you know and suspect about our operations. I presume you got the name of the Gaviota from Juan Escobar. We saw him picked up in Fort Lauderdale.”

  Quickly I calculated that there wasn’t anything we knew that would come as a surprise to Gorodin, so I laid it out for him while using another part of my mind to look for a way out.

  “We know Anton Zhizov is heading your show,” I said. “It was obvious, since he signed the ransom telegram. We know what kind of bombs you’re using, how you’ve been getting them into our cities. We suspect that a scientist named Knox Wamow is making them for you. That’s it.”

  “Very good,” Gorodin said. “That answers the easy part. Now I want you to tell me about AXE. Of course, the organization will be of no importance once we take over, still it will simplify matters if we are familiar with its operations. You may begin by telling me the number of agents now actively assigned.”

  I said nothing. My head throbbed. I tried to think.

  “Carter, I have no patience with games,” Gorodin barked, all semblance of amiability disappearing. “I can make you talk—I can make any man talk—but it might be faster to get answers from the woman.”

  “She doesn’t know anything about AXE,” I said quickly. “This is a one-time assignment for her.”

  Gorodin lunged from his chair and stepped forward with remarkable speed for a big man. With the back of one hairy hand he lashed me across the mouth. I tasted blood.

  “Silence,” he ordered “When I am through with the woman, you will have another chance to speak.”

  As the hulking Russian turned from me and stood over Rona, my pain-fogged brain recalled the trick belt Stewart had been so proud of in Special Effects. The one that exploded in the bad guy’s hands when he took it away from you to examine the obviously phony buckle. Why hadn’t Gorodin found it? I looked down and saw the answer. My sport shirt covered it.

  I tried to squirm around on the bunk to expose the belt. Young Boris, sitting by the door, motioned to me with the barrel of the Luger to lie still. Even if I had been able to expose the belt and Gorodin fell for it, Rona and I would still be securely bound with a gun covering us and a shipload of decidedly hostile crewmen. I lay still, my mind racing for an alternative.

  Gorodin looked directly down into Ronas face. From my position I could see that her blue eyes were wide and frightened, but she had not lost her control.

  “It is your turn, Miss Volstedt,” he said, “to tell me about AXE.”

  “What Nick said Is true,” Rona said levelly. “I know nothing about AXE.”

  “Sooner or later you are going to tell me what I want to know,” Gorodin said. “The smarter you are, the sooner you will talk.” As he said this the Russian reached down and grasped Rona’s blouse, inserting his thick fingers between the buttons. He gave a vicious yank and the blouse tore away, leaving him with a handful of flimsy material.

  Rona’s breasts fell into view, the tops lightly tanned, the rounded bottoms white from being hidden in her bikini top.

  Gorodin turned to Boris at the door. “What do you think of those, my boy? Not so big as some, maybe, but firm and full.”

  Boris nodded shortly, but his eyes revealed his disapproval of Gorodin’s actions.

  “Good to the touch, too,” Gorodin said, running his big hands over Rona’s breasts. “What a pity we do not have time for some pleasure before the questioning begins. Maybe there will be time for that later, eh, if the lady gives the right answers.”

  I could see the muscles move in the big man’s arms as he began to squeeze the girls breasts.

  “We will begin again,” he said. “You will tell me the names of everyone you know connected with AXE.”

  Rona gasped as Gorodin squeezed her breasts like ripe fruit in his massive hands. “I don’t know any other AXE people!” she cried.

  Gorodin, straightened up, leaving red finger marks where he had gripped Rona. He shook his head sadly and turned to me. “Your lady friend is going to be stubborn too. It seems I am going to have to hurt one of you, and I think I would most enjoy hurting her.” He ran his hands down over Rona’s bare stomach and began to undo the buttons of her slacks.

  Right here is where the movie hero would say, “Hold on, don’t touch the lady! I’ll tell you want you want to know.” It doesn’t work that way. Sure, I was fond of Rona, and what Gorodin was going to do to her would leave scars on me too, but she was a professional, and you don’t get into the espionage business, whether it’s Killmaster for AXE or some two-bit spying for the Atomic Energy Commission unless you’re prepared to take the risk. And from a practical standpoint, the minutes it would take Gorodin to destroy Rona Volstedt only to learn she had nothing to tell
him would give me that much more time to figure a way out so that I might still complete the assignment. In the end, the most important consideration must be the mission. So I ground my teeth together and tried to concentrate on a plan of escape.

  Knuckles banged on the cabin door.

  Gorodin swore in Russian as the door opened and a pale crewman stood there at stiff attention, trying not to look at the half-naked blonde on the bunk

  “A radio message for you, sir,” the crewman rattled.

  “Not now, you idiot,” Gorodin roared. “Get out of here!”

  “B-but, sir, it is General Zhizov. Urgent.”

  With a grunt of annoyance Gorodin turned away from Rona.

  “Very well. Tell the general I will be there.”

  The crewman saluted smartly and disappeared.

  Gorodin paused at the table where his young aide sat. “Boris, keep the gun on these people at all times. Watch out for Carter.”

  “Yes, sir,” Boris answered, keeping Wilnelmina un-waveringly pointed at me.

  Gorodin went out and slammed the door behind him. Working behind my back I tried to hitch up the shirt so Boris would get a look at the trick belt. At the movement I could see Boris’s finger tighten on the trigger.

  “You had better lie still,” he said. “Do not doubt that I will shoot you if I have to.”

  He meant it. I quit moving.

  A stifled sob came from Rona. I glanced quickly across at her. She hadn’t seemed like a crier. Boris looked too. When his eyes fell on her bare breasts he looked away.

  Rona sobbed again, made a series of pitiful, whimpering sounds, took a shuddering breath. “Boris,” she said tearfully, “are you going to let him do this to me?”

  Then I understood. Rona was more of a pro than I had imagined. She had caught the earlier flash of compassion in the young man’s eyes, and now she was playing him with it.

  “I cannot help you,” Boris said. “You must tell the colonel what he wants to know.”

  “I can’t,” Rona said. “I don’t know anything. Hell do horrible things to me. You aren’t like him, Boris. I can see there’s humanity in you. Please help me.”

  She was good, really convincing, and she was only half-acting.

  Boris chewed at his lip but shook his head. “I can do nothing to help you.”

  Precious seconds ticked away. I had a certain physical freedom, enough for a desperate gamble—if Rona could create a diversion. I caught her attention, then pointedly eyed a pack of cigarettes resting on the card table in front of Boris.

  She smiled wanly at him and released a long sigh. “I understand, Boris,” she said. “You’re working for what you believe in, just as we are. Whatever they do to me, I know it would be different if you were in charge.”

  The boy looked at her with something very close to gratitude.

  “I won’t ask you to betray your beliefs,” Rona went on. “But could you just do one small favor?”

  “If I can,” Boris answered in a barely audible voice.

  “Before that beast Gorodin begins his torture I’d like a cigarette.” She managed another feeble smile.

  “It’s a small pleasure, but it could be my last. Will you give me one?”

  Boris hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.” He picked up the pack in front of him. “These are Russian. You don’t mind?”

  She shook her head. “A cigarette is a cigarette when your nerves are screaming for relief.”

  “It will be awkward,” he said. “I cannot release your hands.”

  “Please just light it and put it between my lips,” she answered.

  It was a very long shot. I would have only a couple of seconds. I tensed, coiled myself.

  Boris lit the cigarette, stood and put the gun into his waistband. He crossed the cabin and put the cigarette between Rona’s lips. As he moved, I eased my feet off the bunk to the deck and came slowly to a sitting position.

  I was preparing to launch myself at him when he turned. I had hoped that he would hover above Rona, lifting the cigarette from her lips occasionally. But apparently he was about to go back to his seat.

  And now he saw me from the corner of his eye. He turned around sharply to face me as he grabbed for the Luger. But then I got an unexpected break. As Boris swung around to face me and turned his back on. Rona, she snapped her knees up almost under her chin, aimed her feet at the target, and shot them forward in a mighty shove. It was done with marvelous dexterity and lightning speed.

  Boris had the gun in hand but had no time to bring it up before he was catapulted toward me, hurled off balance with such force that he sprawled head first at my feet, the Luger clattering to the deck. It took only a split second to raise my taped feet, now a double leather-soled club, and smash them down on his skull. The first blow was at least stunning, but the next three in rapid succession executed by leaping up and mashing down with the full measure of my weight, consigned him to oblivion.

  “Poor Boris,” said Rona after she had leap-frogged over and was gazing down at him with a queasy-gut expression, “I was almost beginning to like him.”

  Ten

  I had no time to express my thanks and admiration for Rona’s surprising agility and quick-thinking performance at the moment of truth. I was too busy looking around the cabin for the sharp edge of something to cut us loose. But at a glance there didn’t seem to be anything sharper than the blunt comer of a mirrorless bureau.

  Then I spotted the fluorescent light fixture above the bureau. It was out of my reach, of course, but the tube would break easily enough if I could hit it with something. I could forget my Luger, resting now on the deck nearby. With my hands wrapped behind me I’m not a very good shot; besides, a shot would make too much noise. For the same reason, I couldn’t throw the gun at the light.

  I swung my taped-together ankles over the edge of the bunk and sat up. By working my heels one against the other I managed to ease one of my shoes down so that it hung suspended from the toes of my right foot There was only going to be time enough for one try. I swung my legs from the knees tentatively a couple of times, then kicked up and out as hard as I could.

  The loose shoe left my foot and spiraled up through the air. It seemed to move in slow motion as I watched it arc toward the target. The heel of the shoe hit the fluorescent tube dead center with one of the most beautiful little crashes I had ever heard.

  The stateroom was plunged into darkness, and I hopped across the floor to where I heard the glass shards fall. Squatting and groping behind my back I found the thin pieces of glass. They were sharp enough, but most were -too small. Scrabbling through the fragments, I finally found one big enough to hold between my thumb and forefinger and saw at the tape on my wrists. As I worked with the curved piece of glass, my hand suddenly went slippery wet. I knew I had cut myself, but my hands were too numb to feel the pain.

  When I had at least a notch started in each thick-ness of tape I wrenched my wrists apart and they ripped free. Still working in the dark I tore the adhesive from my ankles.

  “That’s done it,” I told Rona. “Say something so I can find you.”

  “I’m over here,” Rona’s voice said from the darkness.

  I got to my feet and was moving toward the sound of her voice when I heard a foot scuff the deck outside the cabin door. Then the latch rattled.

  With a leap toward the bulkhead I flattened myself next to the door. The door opened, light spilled in behind Gorodin, who hesitated a fraction of a second. It was a fraction of a second too long. I hit him with a straight right to the hinge of the jaw that sent shock waves all the way up to my shoulder.

  I caught him around the waist as he sagged and dragged him out of the doorway. I plucked the stiletto from Gorodin’s belt, and slipped Hugo back into my forearm scabbard. There was enough deck light to locate Wilhelmina, and I repossessed the Luger too.

  Now I stepped to the bunk where Rona sat patiently waiting, and ripped the tape from her wrists and ankles.

&n
bsp; “Let’s go,” I hissed, tossing her what was left of her blouse. “Stay close behind me and I’ll try to get us over the side. It’s our only chance.”

  We stepped into the passageway. I tried to get my bearings. At each end of the passage I could see a flight of narrow metal stairs. I had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing which direction would be safe. I made my choice and ran for the stairs, with Rona right behind me.

  I’d made the wrong choice.

  As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the approaching sound of heavy feet. I drew the Luger and fired upward at the men coming down.

  With my free arm I swept Rona out of the way as a body hurtled past us and smacked the deck. It was one of the Slavic seamen. We heard the sound of feet thundering down the passage on the deck above.

  I wheeled around and, with Rona in my wake, raced for the stairs at the other end of the passage. I could see that we were on a lower deck, and I knew we had to go two levels higher before we could get to the rail.

  We rattled up the metal steps and reached the next deck just as a bunch of Gorodin’s men charged around the corner. I took a pot shot in their direction that slowed them down just long enough for us to sprint up the next flight of stairs. Down below somebody got his gun unhitched and fired two booming shots. The slugs sang off the steel bulkhead as we leaped onto the next deck, out of range.

  Down this passage were the doors that led out to the lifeboat area. I had no thought of freeing one of the boats, but there were life jackets stored along the bulkheads there, and if we could grab a couple of those, we might survive in the water.

  As we burst through the doors into the outside air, three crewmen stood between us and the rail. One of them carried a rifle. He raised the weapon to fire, but I already had Wilhelmina in my hand. I sent a bullet crashing through his forehead and he pitched forward onto the rifle. One of the other crewmen tugged at the rifle to free it from the dead man while the third dug a hand gun out of his clothing and got off a wild shot in our direction. Wilhelmina answered. The gunman grabbed his chest and staggered backward into the rail, cartwheeling over the side to splash into the black Caribbean below. The survivor gave up his attempts to free the rifle and bolted toward the stern.