Mission Earth Volume 8: Disaster

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Babe then went into the salon and put on a piece of music called “The Ride of the Valkyries,” a wild, bombastic symphony, and said, “That’s to aid your digestion. Now, just sit down and relax. Sunset isn’t until after 8:00.”

  Heller sank into an easy chair. He could hardly move. Babe sat perched upon the couch, quivering with excitement. Although she was middle-aged, she still retained much of her Roxy showgirl beauty. A proud and deadly glitter was in her eyes. “Oh, we’ll fix that Faustino.”

  After a while, Heller said, “Let’s set our timetable.” And he took a pad and wrote it out. He handed it to her.

  She looked at it. Then suddenly her smile froze. “Wait a minute, Jerome. This says, when I see you come out of the window. The way I understood it, you were going to land on the roof in a helicopter and after you’d done your thing, you were just going to wait with your hand on Faustino’s collar for our frontal assault. That was dangerous enough for you. I thought you were going to lower yourself down into the banquet room through the ventilation system.”

  “Well, it is kind of a helicopter. I just didn’t give you the details.”

  “This is mad! I’m not going to have you diving out windows! No, Jerome. If you insist on this, the whole thing is off. You might FALL!”

  “I’ll have a safety line,” said Heller.

  “Oh, I don’t like it. Maybe I should hire you a stunt man!”

  “There isn’t time now,” said Heller.

  “Well, that’s true. What’s this ‘spacing of booms’? It says ‘Tenth boom.’ Then it says . . . Oh, Jerome. You be careful with explosives. Can’t I get you a good explosives man? Where’s Bang-Bang?”

  “He’s sort of out of circulation,” said Heller. “Now don’t you worry about me, Mrs. Corleone. You just follow that timetable and it will go off as smooth as silk.”

  “Well, all right. But I’ve known silk to snag. However, I will be a good general. I will use your orders. It gives me goose bumps, the thought of you climbing out a thirty-fifth story window. Now, don’t you fall, you hear me?”

  “I promise,” said Heller.

  “Oh, how I wish ‘Holy Joe’ was here. How he would have loved this! Faustino, no less! I can hardly wait to see the face of the mayor’s wife!”

  PART SEVENTY

  Chapter 3

  They left Bayonne after dark in Babe’s high-powered, bulletproof limousine. The New Jersey Turnpike, when they joined it, was a wasteland of concrete, deserted of all traffic due to the absence of fuel. Giovanni had had no problem with that: they had their own emergency supplies. He was burning up the road, delighted to do a hundred miles an hour with nothing else in sight. Not even the cops could chase him, as they had no gas either—though it was doubtful if they would have, knowing the car.

  To their right, the city of New York was not visible at all, though the summer night was clear. Heller could not ever remember seeing it that way: only a few beacon lights, red sparks, gleamed as aircraft warnings on the taller towers and buildings.

  He made out, at last, the beacon light on the top of the Empire State Building. The top thirty-two stories of the building, usually lit, were dark, probably for the first time since a bomber had crashed into it nearly a half century before. “We’ll get to you later,” Heller told it silently, but he wondered how his imprisoned friends were doing there. That lunch case hadn’t contained all that much. They would have finished it by now.

  He asked Babe if he could use the phone and called the condo. Balmor answered.

  “Did she call?” said Heller.

  “Oh, yes, sir,” said Balmor. “She left a message that there was no change in the person. Do you have a message if she calls again, sir?”

  “Tell her I’m working and that I’m fine. And give her my love.”

  He rang off and found Babe looking at him. “Who was that?” said Babe. “Some girl? It’s very important that you marry well, Jerome. You must introduce her to me.”

  “Oh, you’d approve of her,” said Heller. “She’s from the same country as that Prince Caucalsia I told you about. The one that belongs at the top of your family tree.”

  “Really?” said Babe.

  “Oh, yes,” said Heller. “And she’s blonde, tall, blue-eyed except when they are gray, very beautiful, talented, educated. She’s also an aristocrat.”

  “Jerome!” said Babe, looking at him. “You’re in love!”

  Heller laughed. “I plead guilty. And she’ll love you, too, when she meets you. Who wouldn’t?”

  Babe smiled and then began to laugh. “Oh, Jerome—no wonder you forgot your mother for a while. But it’s all right. What I couldn’t bear was thinking you were mad at me. Now, here’s what we will do. As soon as we have finished this war, I’ll have a big reception. I’ll present her to all the people who matter and if she’s as beautiful as you say, we’ll be the envy of everybody! Now, let’s see: the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel is a little bit old-fashioned but the ballrooms are quite nice. Or should we use the Plaza? Maybe the Grand Hyatt. No, I know. Madison Square Garden! Are you engaged yet?”

  “Well, not formally. It’s just an understanding between us.”

  “Ah! If I approve of her, we’ll have an engagement party! What’s her name?”

  Heller, the Fleet officer, would not lie about his girl. He said, “Her passport says her name is Heavenly Joy Krackle. But her real name is the Countess Krak.”

  “Good heavens! A COUNTESS! And not snooty or anything?”

  “She’s the soul of charm. You’ll love her!”

  “Very good, then. That’s settled. An engagement party at Madison Square Garden! Choruses from five musicals! The best bands! Champagne! Imagine it: love and war! Oh, Jerome, I’m so glad you have come back!”

  They were entering the Holland Tunnel. Babe stopped making notes of the list of guests and put it firmly aside. “I better get my mind on this timetable or we’ll be fleeing for our lives to our estates in South America. But promise me faithfully one thing, Jerome.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t fall!”

  PART SEVENTY

  Chapter 4

  Thanks to the dizzying speed Giovanni had driven and the empty, dark streets of lower Manhattan, the limousine arrived early on the scene. They parked beside a small, dark park.

  Further to the south, a quarter of a mile away, lay the police headquarters, seen only as a faint blue emergency light. Nearer to hand but unseen were the US Court House and the New York County Court House. To their right and close by on the Bowery lay the dim, unlighted bulk of the Narcotici mob building. The high-rise of Total Control, Inc., was black glass and chrome but one was hard put to even make it out against the murky stars.

  Heller, with an infrared flashlight and a lens over his eye, was scanning one final time the plans of the building that Babe had gotten him that day.

  There was a sound of footsteps approaching and Babe looked up alertly. She slid her window down and a face appeared, half seen. “Mia capa?” It was Signore Saggezza, consigliere of the Corleone family.

  “All set?” said Babe.

  “Mia capa,” said Saggezza, “can I not caution you against this thing and call it off before it is too late? Even ‘Holy Joe’ would have thought a thousand times before he attempted it.”

  “I know it is your duty, signore, to guide us safely through the storms of life,” said Babe, “but can the chatter and answer my question. All set?”

  “The good God watches over the completely mad with a special providence,” said Signore Saggezza. “I just hope he isn’t looking the other way tonight. Here’s your report: the only power they’ve got is emergency on one elevator. It’s a hot night and there’s no air conditioning, so they’ve got windows open. See that glow up there on the thirty-fifth floor? They’re using candles in the banquet room. The city officials are all there; the last one just went in five minutes ago. Our units are all in position. But I must warn you that you are not the only one who sees t
hat this power blackout is an opportunity: Faustino has every soldato in his mob inside and watching every door. There’s also an Army tank unit parked in Tompkins Square about a mile and a half from here and they’re likely to come running if there’s any firing. The police station is only a quarter of a mile south of here.”

  “Fix their police cars,” said Babe.

  “All handled, mia capa, but police have feet. This whole thing is quite mad. I also ordered your jet to stand by at Newark in case you have to run for it. Are you still determined?”

  “Signore, an opportunity like this comes once in a lifetime,” said Babe. “The curtain is going to go up.”

  “Then here’s your radio,” said Saggezza, “and may the good God have mercy on our souls.” He handed the FM walkie-talkie through and vanished in the dark.

  Heller reached over and handed her a two-way response radio. He showed her where the button was.

  “I’m in business,” said Babe. “Bring on your war!”

  Heller said, “Zero your stopwatch. Now start it.” He pushed his own.

  He got out of the limousine, got his satchel straps on his shoulders and lifted the spacetrooper sled.

  “Good luck,” said Babe.

  With a wave of his hand he trotted off into the darkness of the park.

  Working rapidly and unseen, he assembled the sled. He lay down on it, making sure he did not squash the cat in its satchel. He wrapped his fingers around the rod controls.

  Up into the night he soared.

  Delicately manipulating the controls, he edged sideways to the building as he climbed. It was a fifty-five-story building and it was so dark he almost missed the top.

  The gleam of chrome was to his hand. He made the sled hover. He reached into his bag and brought out a handful of round objects. Working with one hand, he looked at their numbers. He found one that said 1 in a glowing numeral. He pushed it against the chrome. He glanced at his watch. He gave the blob a twist.

  So much for the top floor.

  He dropped down two floors. He found a blob that said 2. He pressed it against the chrome building side.

  Lower he went, two more floors. He fixed a number 3.

  Down and down he went, pausing each time, pushing in another one.

  Finally he planted a number 10.

  He glanced at his glowing watch.

  The ground was absolutely black below, more than thirty-five stories down.

  He edged the sled along at the same level and then found what he was looking for: the window of Faustino’s office.

  A single candle was burning on a table, hardly enough to show up the murals of Sicily all along the walls. There was a steel canopy, a dome like a sunshade, over a chair. The chair was empty. Beyond, the door to the banquet hall was closed.

  Heller, hovering on the sled before the window, reached into the satchel and took out a disintegrator gun. He threw its switches to ON, carefully keeping it away from the sled. It buzzed with a quiet hum.

  Flying the sled with one hand and holding the gun on the window, he played the energy on the glass. The edges curled away. In a workmanlike fashion, he made the glass vanish without disturbing the visible alarm cables all around the frame.

  The candle on the table guttered from the admitted current of night air.

  Heller flew the sled through.

  He turned it off and laid it to one side.

  He took quick steps over to the door and listened. He could hear the laughter and the clink of the night supper in progress.

  With the flick of a switch, he narrowed the beam of the disintegrator gun to a pinpoint. He made a hole through the door and put the gun away.

  Heller looked into the hall. Despite the narrowness of the aperture he could see quite well.

  The city officials of New York were sitting at a U-shaped table, half a hundred of them. The whole center expanse of the floor was empty.

  Then he received his first setback.

  The head of the table was NOT backed to this door. It was all the way at the other side of the room!

  Faustino was sitting clear over there! A hundred and more feet away! The U of the table was open to the office door!

  Somehow he had to get to the other side of that room! He couldn’t just open this door as he thought might be possible and grab Faustino by the collar. To do that he had to get across more than a hundred feet of open floor!

  By the light of candles, Faustino was making a speech. Something about the great success of the Civic Betterment League. What he was saying was getting guffaws and applause every few words. He was enormously fat, better than three hundred pounds. His face was so puffy he didn’t even seem to have eyes: a balloon with a hole in it that opened and closed for a mouth.

  Heller glanced at his watch. Time would be critical.

  He took the cat out of the satchel and fixed the tiny radio in its ear. He made the other preparations with it. He put the tiny cat transmitter between his teeth and, talking with his mouth barely open, told the cat what to do.

  He laid his hat down on a chair. He took off his satchels and put them by the sled. He neated up his tuxedo and bow tie.

  He blew out the office candle and opened the door a crack.

  Then he went to the office hall door and looked out.

  Two guards were standing at the banquet door with riot guns. There was no route in that way.

  Heller went back to the door that led to the banquet room. There was nothing for it. He would have to take a chance.

  He gripped the office door and slowly pulled it open. Then he pushed it with a ferocious rush. He blocked it from slamming with his foot.

  The blast of air burst like a gale into the room!

  All but one candle went out!

  Heller, low down, was on his hands and knees and through the door like a black shadow.

  Startled curses rang through the dark.

  Lighters shortly began to flash. The candles were getting relit.

  But Heller, on his hands and knees, was well around the back of the U-table. Speedily he crawled until he came silently back of Faustino.

  Somebody got up to stare at the office door and made as if to approach it.

  Faustino was still on his feet. “Naw, naw,” he said. “Sit down. It was just the wind. Be calm, be calm. I was saying, gentlemen, that this week, we have never had such a high sale of street drugs. The nervous tensions of the coming war have upped consumption immeasurably. And now, thanks to your splendid cooperation, I must announce a DOUBLE BONUS to you all!”

  Faustino bowed to the applause. Then he was holding up an envelope, “To the Mayor, a princely reward this Saturday! Behold . . .”

  “Now, march!” Heller whispered into the transmitter, mouth closed.

  There was a sizzle of sputtering at the other end of the room. Instead of beholding the uplifted envelope, all eyes turned to the office door!

  The cat walked into the banquet hall.

  He was towing a black, round sphere which slid along behind him.

  He was dragging it by holding the fuse in his mouth.

  The end of the fuse was throwing sparks!

  A startled gasp of horror went through the assemblage.

  Sedately the cat marched forward toward the middle of the U.

  Its eyes were pale green orbs in the candlelight.

  The sparks trailed across the floor.

  “A BOMB!” came the concerted scream.

  Faustino snapped a hand into his coat, grabbing for a holstered gun in some insane effort to shoot the cat.

  But Heller’s hand darted and had the gun.

  Heller’s other hand had Faustino by the collar.

  “IT’S GOING TO EXPLODE!” screamed Heller.

  Some officials had been trying to leap over the table to get at the fuse. But at Heller’s yell, they abandoned it.

  There was a crush and a rush at the door.

  All were leaving but Faustino—and Heller held him firm.

  PART SE
VENTY

  Chapter 5