by Nick Carter
My heart pounded wildly against my ribs. In a minute he was beside me, handing me the carafe. "Señor Carter, the conference director asked me to bring fresh drinking water to the conference room during the noon recess." He spoke very loudly, so that anyone around us could hear him. "Since you have special clearance, would you mind terribly taking it in for me?"
"Oh, all right. I'll take it," I said condescendingly.
"Gracias," he said. Then, in a harsh whisper, "Viva la revolución!"
The man walked quickly back down the corridor. I stood there with the carafe in my hands, overwhelmed by terrible doubts and confusion. I had to take the device into the room. It was too late to think of the other feelings. The most important thing in the world, in my life, was to carry that carafe into the conference room and put it on the table.
I went to the doorway.
"Hello, Carter," the CIA man there said. "What do you have there?"
"It seems the conference director wants fresh water on the conference table," I said casually. "And I'm the errand boy."
The CIA agent looked at the carafe. A Secret Service man grinned at me, then also took a look at the carafe. They seemed satisfied. The Venezuelan policemen nodded for me to go ahead and take the carafe into the room.
I carried the carafe inside. Another Secret Service man eyed me as I took the almost empty carafe from the table and replaced it with the one I'd carried in.
"What's all this about?" he asked.
I grinned at him. "You wouldn't want the conference members to have to drink stale water, would you?"
He looked at the carafe and at me, then grinned back. "Glad to see they're making constructive use of you AXE people."
"Very funny," I said.
I picked up the old carafe and propped it under my arm, then glanced back at the one I'd just placed at the center of the conference table. And I heard the words echoing in my brain:
The device will be tuned to the proper frequency by remote control after the afternoon session has begun. Within minutes it will have killed everyone within hearing range.
I turned and left the room.
Outside, I stopped beside the security guards. "I wonder what I'm supposed to do with this?" I said to them, feigning impatience.
"There's a service closet just down the corridor," one of the Venezuelans said.
"Maybe you could sweep the floor while you're at it, Carter," the CIA man at the door laughed. "There's probably a broom in the service closet" He grinned widely.
"What is this. The CIA Comedy Hour?" I asked sourly, as if their jokes bothered me. I couldn't have cared less what they said or did, just as long as they didn't suspect that the biggest security break in years had just been pulled off right under their noses.
I carried the old carafe down the corridor to the closet. Aides and officials were beginning to drift back into the conference room. I looked at my watch and found that it was already quarter past one. The stars of the show, the Venezuelan President and the American Vice-President, would be arriving in a few minutes. And before long the afternoon session would be getting underway. And nobody inside the conference room would suspect that the remainder of his life could be measured in minutes.
Everything was going according to plan.
Ten
After I'd disposed of the carafe, I drifted back down to the conference room. I was just in time to see the Venezuelan President and the American Vice-President coming down the corridor together, the Americans hand resting on the Venezuelan's shoulder. They were flanked by Secret Service agents. As I saw them disappear into the conference room, I was overcome by hatred and revulsion.
Inside, photographers were getting some last-minute shots before the conference resumed. It was rumored that some important economic agreements had been reached during the morning session. Undoubtedly they involved financial aid to the Venezuelan regime in return for permission to install American military bases. Without my intervention, this monstrous tyranny would go on forever.
I had just taken up my position across from the still-opened doors when suddenly the chief of the Venezuelan Security Police appeared beside me. This time his face was somber.
"Mr. Carter, one of your NSA agents just reported to me that you spent a few minutes in the conference room."
I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. The pressure rose again in my head, making my temples throb horribly.
"Yes, sir," I said. My mind raced ahead. Maybe they'd checked and found that the conference director hadn't ordered the fresh water. Or a cautious agent might have found the device by just inspecting the carafe. They might already have removed the device from the room.
"Did everything appear normal to you?" he asked.
The tightening in my chest relaxed a little. "Yes. Everything seemed all right."
"Fine. Would you mind coming with me for just a moment? I would like you to look at this revised list of people with security clearance. It will not take long."
I felt it would be all right to deviate from my instructions to this extent. The conference room doors weren't even closed yet. Anyway, I didn't see how I could refuse. When the chief of the Venezuelan Security Police asked you to do something, you did it. I followed him into the security annex not far from the conference room. A Venezuelan policeman was there when we entered, but he walked out immediately, leaving me alone with the man I hated almost as much as the men I was about to destroy.
"This is the list." Just a quick perusal will suffice to…"
The phone on his desk rang. He went to answer it while I studied the list, trying hard to gain control of my emotions.
His face brightened. "Ah, señor Hawk!"
I felt a steel vise closing on my chest.
The Venezuelan's face changed. "What!"
There was little doubt of it. Hawk had somehow gotten loose and was now calling from another part of the palace, not trusting himself to get here in time. He had figured out that I was going to pull something during the noon recess, which was just ending.
"I can't believe it!" the Venezuelan was saying. I reached for the Luger and moved up behind him. "But señor Carter is here with…"
He turned toward me just as I smashed the handle of the Luger down against the side of his head. He fell heavily to the floor and lay there unconscious. The telephone receiver dangled beside the desk. I could hear Hawk's voice from the other end.
"Hello? What happened? Are you there?"
I stepped over the inert body and replaced the receiver in its cradle. I went to the door and looked up and down the corridor. There was no one around. I stepped out into the corridor, closing the door quickly behind me. Hopefully, nobody would go into the security annex for a while.
I walked back to the conference room just as they were closing the doors. In minutes the conference would resume, and the lethal device would be activated. I stood across the corridor, tense and acutely aware of the terrible pressure. It would soon disappear — after the device had done its work. A Secret Service agent emerged from the conference room and nodded to the guards outside. He walked over to me.
"Hello, Carter," he said in a friendly voice.
I nodded.
"Well, they're under way in there. I'll be glad when all this is over."
"Me too," I said.
I wanted him to leave, to let me just stand there and wait it out alone. The signal would come soon, and I would know it was all over. Somebody might stagger out of the room to get help, maybe a security man stationed right at the door. But neither the Venezuelan President nor the American Vice-President would make it — nobody at the table would survive.
"Everything seems quiet," the man said. "A little too quiet for my taste. I have this strange feeling. Do you have it?"
"Not today," I said. "I was really worried when I first got here, though."
"Well, I have it. Right at the back of my neck. But things look all right."
"Yes, I'm sure we'll have an uneventful afternoon," I said.
"Well, I guess I'd better go check with the Security Police. See you later, Carter."
"Right," I said.
He started down the hall toward the security annex. Tiny beads of perspiration popped out on my upper lip. If he found the chief of Venezuelan security lying there unconscious, he'd probably try to stop the conference, and that would ruin everything. I wondered if I should go after him. But I had a strong feeling that I had to stay right where I was. Orders were orders. An NSA man came down the corridor from the opposite direction and stopped to talk with the Secret Service agent. I'd gotten a short reprieve. I let out a shaky breath and looked across to the conference room doors. Inside, the afternoon session was getting under way. Any minute the device would be activated.
Suddenly there was a loud, shrill sound over the building. It was the high-pitched scream of jets flying over the palace to salute the Caracas Conference. The sound pierced my eardrums, and something strange started happening inside me.
A jumble of scenes, words, and mental pictures crashed into my consciousness. I saw myself, with a gun, the Luger. I saw strange cities and an apartment that had to be in America. Everything crowded in on me, churning in my brain and making me feel sick and dizzy.
Something deep inside me seemed to force me to get to a window, so I could hear the sound again. But a strong sense of duty held me back. They'd ordered me to remain outside the conference room. In spite of those orders, I had to get to a window, and slowly, awkwardly, I walked down the corridor to an alcove where I knew I'd find one. I hesitated once and almost turned back to my post outside the conference room but then went on to the window. I shoved it open just as the jets were heading back for a second sweep over the palace.
At first, as they came toward the palace, I didn't hear anything. But then, when they were almost directly overhead, I heard the loud, high-pitched scream of their engines. It dissipated into a roar as they flashed over the building, gleaming in the sunlight.
This time the sound of the jets really jolted me. It was like a tremendous shock wave passing through my entire body. Suddenly I heard Tanya's beautiful voice:
After it has done its job, the device will emit a much lower sound, which will still sound very high-pitched to your ears.
The sound of the jets was still vibrating inside my head. And I heard another piercing sound in my head, almost like the one the jets had just made.
That is the sound you will hear. When you hear it, you will remember everything buried in your subconscious.
Suddenly truth crashed in on me from every direction. I looked around me, dazed and horribly confused. What the hell was going on? Why had I been posing as a revolutionary named Chávez. I knew I was Nick Carter, that I worked for AXE and I was here to… Suddenly I remembered my fight with Vincent and Hawk, and… Christ!
The jets were gone. I leaned weakly against the window ledge. What the hell was this all about? Why had I assumed the identity of a Venezuelan I'd never even heard of before? What had made me fight with Hawk and Vincent, when they were just trying to… take me off the assignment. The carafe! I'd taken a carafe into the conference room just a few minutes ago, and I'd known it contained a device that would kill everyone in the room.
It was all coming back fast. I hadn't just been posing — I'd really believed I was a man named Chávez. Everything I'd done during the past two days had been for the purpose of assassinating the President of Venezuela and the Vice-President of the United States — the two men I'd been sent to Caracas to protect! I couldn't remember anything before that, but last night I'd met Ilse Hoffmann again and I'd called her Tanya, a Russian name. And she'd known about my deadly mission.
Yes, that was it! I couldn't remember anything that had happened to me between the time I'd gone to her apartment, several days ago, and the time I'd come back believing I was Rafael Chávez. But something was coming back to me about that evening in her apartment. I remembered a feeling of dizziness and nausea. I'd tried to get away, but two men had stopped me. I must have been drugged. And they'd done something to me to make me act the way I had ever since. That was the humiliation they had spoken of in the message. Somehow they were using me to assassinate the conference dignitaries. And «they» were the KGB. Tanya had admitted it. I remembered explaining my disappearance to Hawk, but that was the story they'd told me to give him. I had no memory at all of those two days I was gone, and that was undoubtedly the way they wanted it. That must have been when they'd conditioned me to assume the identity of Rafael Chávez.
I started running from the alcove, around the corner and into the main corridor. I had to get to the conference room. The device I'd planted there might already be working, and it would kill everybody within earshot.
When I got to the big doors, there were three men guarding them, two Venezuelan policemen and a Secret Service agent. The CIA agent who'd been there earlier had left, probably for a short break. The Secret Service agent and NSA man who'd been talking to each other outside the closed door of the security annex weren't there now, and the door was still closed. The Secret Service man had apparently been diverted before he'd found the chief of the Security Police.
I startled the guards at the conference room door.
"I have to get inside," I said. "There's a weapon in there, and if I don't get it out fast, it will kill everybody in the room."
I started to push past them, but one of the Venezuelans blocked my way. "I am sorry, señor Carter, but we have strict orders not to interrupt the conference."
"Get out of my way, you idiot!" I shouted.
I shoved the guard aside, but his companion pulled a gun and stopped me. "Please, señor Carter," he said quietly.
"What is it, Carter?" the Secret Service agent asked, looking worried.
I turned to him impatiently. "Remember the water carafe I took in earlier?"
He thought a moment. "Oh, yes." His eyes narrowed. "What the hell's in it, a bomb?"
"No, but something just as bad, maybe worse," I said. "I have to get the damned thing now."
I started in a third time, and the Venezuelan jammed the revolver hard against my back. "Why did you take the carafe into the room in the first place, Mr. Carter?"
It was obvious they were going to make me explain everything before they'd let me in. And there wasn't any time for that. By now the damned mechanism might already have been activated.
I spun around, throwing my left arm backward as I turned. My arm hit the Venezuelan's gun hand, and the gun fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. I jammed an elbow into his meaty face and connected solidly. There was a dull crack of bone, and he gave a loud grunt, then fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, where he sat dazed and moaning.
"Nick, for Christ's sake!" I heard the Secret Service man yell.
He lunged at me, and I turned to meet him, throwing a hard left into his face. It caught him, just right, and he went down.
The other Venezuelan had pulled his gun and was obviously planning to use it on me. He was aiming at my chest as I grabbed wildly for the gun hand. I shoved the gun up and to the right just as he pulled the trigger. The report reverberated, in the corridor, and slug crashed into the ceiling. I heard shouts coming from the far end of the hallway. In a minute every security man in the place would be on top of me.
I twisted hard at the Venezuelan's gun hand and finally managed to get the revolver away from him. I let it drop and jammed a knee into his groin. The man bent over double, screaming in pain. While he was still clutching at his crotch, I slammed the side of my hand against his head and connected, sending him flying against the conference room doors.
The first Venezuelan started to get up, but I kicked him in the side, and he fell heavily onto his back. I started to open the doors, but they were locked. I stepped back to kick them in.
"Hold it, Carter."
It was the Secret Service man. I turned to him only for a minute. He was aiming his.38 Smith & Wesson at my chest. I looked at the gun, th
en back at him.
"I'm going to go into that room," I said evenly. "If I don't, everyone in there will die. You'll have to fire that damned thing to stop me."
I turned away from him, raised my foot, and kicked hard at the doors. With a loud crash they flew open, and I dashed into the conference room.
A door had hit a Secret Service man and knocked him to the floor. All the other security people started moving toward me, and the members of the conference looked up at me in alarm.
"What the hell is this?" the man on the floor shouted. He'd seen the guard on the floor out in the corridor.
The distinguished-looking Venezuelan President looked at me with restrained interest. The American Vice-President staring at me in open shock and fear.
"What's the meaning of all this?" It was an American aide who'd gotten up from the table. After their initial shock, everyone at the conference was becoming indignant.
"Please stay calm," I said in a firm voice. "That carafe on the table contains a deadly weapon. Its function is to kill everybody in this room."
Eleven
Everything was noise and confusion. Several men stood up hurriedly and scrambled away from their seats. I went in past them and leaned over the table.
"Get him" the Venezuelan from the corridor yelled.
I'd just about reached the carafe when a Venezuelan plainclothes man grabbed me from behind. I couldn't get to the carafe. I turned and fought wildly to free myself.
Just then the device was activated. Everybody in the room felt it — I could tell by their faces. There was no audible sound. The device was emitting sounds at a frequency where you couldn't tell if you were hearing or just feeling. But one thing was clear — it was working on every nerve fiber in our bodies. The sound penetrated to the very core of my brain, tearing and grating at my nerves, jarring them mercilessly, causing agonizing pain and nausea. The pain started in the head and chest, just like the terrible sensations I'd had for the past two days, but this was going to get a hell of a lot worse in a matter of seconds. A couple of men at the table were putting their hands uncertainly to their heads, and one had already fallen forward onto the table.
