The Death Strain

by Nick Carter

  He was in his leather chair, spare, lean face controlled as usual, steel-blue eyes alert. Only the way he kept shifting the unlit cigar from side to side told me he was unusually agitated. He always chewed rather than smoked his cigars. It was the speed at which he chewed them that was the tip-off.

  "Big visitors at this time of night," I commented, sliding into a chair. He knew at once I was referring to the State Department limousine.

  "Big trouble," he said. "That's why I didn't want it spread that you dashed out of tie Nestors' house. We've already got enough newshawks sniffing around."

  He sighed, sat back and regarded me with a long stare.

  "I only sent you to attend that bacteriological symposium because I wanted you to get up to date on the stuff," he mused aloud. "But sometimes I think I'm psychic."

  I didn't debate the point. I'd seen plenty of evidence of it.

  "You're aware of the Cumberland Research Operation, of course " he said.

  "Only aware of it," I answered. "Our virus factory. The stuff that's been getting such a second look from so many people lately."

  Hawk nodded. "In the Cumberland operation there are sixty bacterial strains for which man has no known antidote. Let loose, they could wipe out whole areas and perhaps more than just areas. Of them all, the deadliest strain is one called X–V77, X–Virus seven-seven. Sometime between four-ten and four-twenty this afternoon, X–V77 was removed from the Cumberland Repository."

  I let out a low whistle. "It was," Hawk continued, "removed by the Director of Cumberland, Dr. Joseph Carlsbad, and three other men unknown to us. Two guards were killed."

  "Carlsbad is the guy who's been making noises of late," I recalled. "Is he some land of kook?"

  "That'd be too simple," Hawk said. "He's a brilliant bacteriologist who, as we piece it together, worked along with us so he'd be in a position to influence government thinking. When he found he couldn't really do that, he began planning to take things into his own hands."

  "You say planning. That means you feel this wasn't a sudden, impulsive action."

  "Hell, no," Hawk said. "This move took a lot of planning. This was left at the scene."

  He pushed a note at me and I read it quickly, aloud. "I have stopped talking," it said. 'This is my ultimatum. Unless all bacteriological warfare stockpiles are destroyed, I will destroy those who would destroy mankind. Science cannot be misused for political ends. I shall be in further contact. Unless what I say is done, I will strike a blow for all people everywhere."

  Hawk got up, paced the room and gave me a total picture as it had been reconstructed. When he'd finished, the lines in his face were even deeper.

  "This has to come on top of the World Leadership Conference scheduled for next week," Hawk muttered. I knew about the Conference, hailed as the first real gathering of the world's leadership to try and solve the problems of this old planet, I didn't know AXE was involved in it, and Hawk grimaced at my question.

  "Everybody's involved," he said. "They've got the FBI on internal security, State on operations, the CIA on watching known problem areas. Here, just look at this list of biggies due at the United Nations General Assembly building on the opening day of the Conference."

  I scanned the list briefly and saw some one hundred and thirty names. My eyes picked out the chiefs of state of all the major powers, Russia, France, Japan, Italy. I saw that the Queen of England was listed. So was Chairman Mao of the People's Republic of China, his first trip to the UN. The head of the International Council of Churches was on the list as was the Pope, all living past Presidents of the United States, the prime ministers., presidents and kings of every country on the globe. It was to be a first of its kind, all right, a major step in assembling the world's leaders in one place to act, even superficially, as one body. I gave the list back to Hawk.

  "Got any leads on Carlsbad, any particular person he might be after?" I asked.

  "We gave everything we know about the man to the Chief Psychiatrist at the Pentagon, Dr. Tarlman," Hawk replied. "His conclusion is that Carlsbad's real desire is to injure the United States, probably by infecting one of the world's leaders. Carlsbad's parents and sister were killed at Hiroshima where, as Methodist missionaries, they were interned during World War II. Dr. Tarlbut says Carlsbad's principles may be sincere, but they're abetted by his repressed hatred of those who killed his parents and sister."

  "Interesting," I commented. "In any case, it all means that the doctor might do any damn thing with his deadly strain of bacteria. And if we start alerting every prominent person in the world, the cat's out of the bag."

  "Exactly," Hawk agreed. "So for now, at least, this is still top-secret security. Our one lead is Carlsbad's niece, Rita Kenmore. She lived with him, and we know be is very devoted to the girl. She's still at his house. I've got men watching it on a twenty-four-hour basis. Tomorrow, I want you to go to her and see what you can find out. I've a feeling that Carlsbad will try to contact her."

  "Should I go back to Sherry Nestor tonight?"

  "Absolutely," Hawk snapped, and I knew it was hurting him to give me another night of pleasure. Normally he'd have me on some plane within the hour. "I want nothing added to the rumors already starting to fly. Boxly of the Post-Times has wind of something already, and hell have his crew beating the bushes in all directions. In the morning, instead of going to the symposium, you'll go to Carlsbad's home here in Washington. Check with me first, though."

  Hawk swiveled and gazed out the window and I knew he was through.

  I left with a chill wrapped around me, a feeling of elements outside man's control waiting to descend. The pretty little thing in the outside office smiled at me. It was an effort to smile back, and I forgot to get her name. It didn't seem important anymore. I walked slowly through the night, thinking about what I'd just been told and putting together what few things we knew. Carlsbad had not been alone. He had some kind of organization. A giant Japanese ought to be easy enough to spot.

  I had no idea then what land of an organization Carlsbad had put together. I was to find out, however, that it was kind of an elite of the damned.

  * * *

  When I got back to Sherry's, Paul and Cynthia were still there, and I maintained a casual air until they left. It was Sherry who, with her native shrewdness, saw through my façade.

  "I know better than to ask what, but something's gone wrong," she said. I grinned at her.

  "Not here," I said. "Let's get lost." She nodded and she was naked in my arms in moments and we got lost, the whole damned night, lost in the pleasures of feeling and not thinking, of the body over the mind, of the present over the future. It was a nice way and a nice place in which to get lost, and Sherry was as eager as I was.

  II

  I left Sherry half-awake in bed, murmuring for me to stay. "Can't, darling, I said in her ear. Her soft breasts were outside the sheet and I covered her up. She pulled the sheet down again without opening her eyes. "Still no go, doll," I chuckled. I brushed her body with my lips and left her grumbling. I'd checked out Wilhelmina, the 9mm Luger in the shoulder holster under my jacket, and I'd strapped Hugo, the pencil-thin stiletto, in its leather sheath on my forearm. Pressure at the right spot and the tempered steel blade dropped into my palm, silently, deadly.

  I paused in the study downstairs and called Hawk. He was still harried, a man juggling more than he could safely handle. He told me they'd confiscated the only copy of the speech Carlsbad had sent to the symposium chairman to have read for him.

  "It was rambling, threatening in vague ways," the Chief said. "It had Dr. Cook, the chairman, thoroughly confused and he was happy to see us take it off his hands."

  "I'm on my way now to see the niece," I said.

  "She's in scientific research herself, Nick," Hawk told me. "The two men watching the front and back of the house are FBI, I'm in walkie-talkie contact with them. I'll tell them you're on your way."

  I was about to hang up when he spoke again. "And Nick, bear down.
Time is short."

  I went outside to the little blue Cougar parked near the Nestor house. I drove to the edge of Washington proper and found the Carlsbad house in the run-down area, the last house on a long street. A thick wall of woods was about twenty yards behind the house and there was heavy shrubbery in a vacant lot across the street from it. The house itself was run-down and decrepit-looking. I was frankly surprised. After all, Carlsbad wasn't drawing peanuts in his position as Director of the Cumberland Operation. Certainly he could afford something better than this.

  I parked and walked to the weathered, cracked door and rang the bell. My next surprise was the girl who answered the door. I saw china-blue eyes, big and round, under a shock of short, brown hair set in a round, saucy face with a pert nose and full lips. A blue jersey blouse, almost the color of her eyes, tightened itself over full, upturned, thrusting breasts and a deep blue miniskirt revealed young, smoothly firm legs. Rita Kenmore was, to say the least, an eye-filling bit of fluff.

  "Dr. Carlsbad, please," I said. The china-blue eyes stayed the same, but in this business you learn to catch the little things, and I saw the tiny line of tension tighten in her pretty jaw. I also noted that her fist was clenched white around the doorknob.

  "He's not here," she said flatly. I smiled pleasantly and moved into the house in one quick step. I flashed an identity card that she hardly had time to read. "Then I'll wait," I said. "Carter, Nick Carter."

  "Dr. Carlsbad won't be back," she said nervously.

  "How do you know?" I asked quickly. "Have you heard from him?"

  "No, no," she said too quickly. "I don't think he'll be back, that's all."

  Little Miss Blue-eyes was lying. Either that or she damned well knew what had happened and expected to hear from Carlsbad and didn't want me around when she did. My eyes scanned the room and its worn furniture. I stepped to a doorway and peered into an adjoining room, a bedroom. A woman's traveling bag was open on the bed.

  "Going someplace, Miss Kenmore?" I asked. I saw her china-blue eyes flare and seem to grow smaller as she tried an indignant act.

  "Get out of this house, whoever you represent," she cried. "You've no right to come in here and question me. I'll call the police."

  "Go ahead," I told her, deciding to sail with it. "Your uncle's got no right to steal vital government material."

  I saw some of the bluster go out of her eyes, and she moved away. From the side, her breasts turned up sharply in a saucy, piquant line. "I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, not looking at me. I had to admit that there was absolute conviction in her voice. But then maybe she was merely a good actress, a natural feminine talent. She turned toward me, and the round, china-blue eyes were a mixture of defensive righteousness and worry.

  "He hasn't done anything wrong," she said. "My uncle is a sincere, dedicated man. Whatever he does is done only to make the world listen. Somebody's got to make it listen."

  "And Dr. Carlsbad is the one, eh?" I offered. She took a deep breath in an obvious effort to compose herself. It may have helped compose her but the way it thrust her breasts out against the blue blouse didn't help my composure. It was damned hard to imagine her in some stuffy laboratory.

  She glared at me. "I told you I don't know anything about anything," she said. When she looked at me again her eyes were misty. "I wish you'd tell me what's happened," she said.

  Suddenly I had the distinct feeling that she was telling me a half-truth at least, that Carlsbad had not really taken her into his confidence. But she was waiting for someone or something and packing to go some place. I decided not to enlighten her. This way her anxiety would stay high. It might trip her up into revealing something. I merely smiled at her, and she turned away and began pacing up and down the room. I casually folded myself into an overstuffed chair and pretended not to catch her furtive glances out the windows. Good. She was expecting people, not phone calls. Maybe even Carlsbad himself. It would be nice to wrap this one up so quickly, I mused.

  "Are you a bacteriologist, too?" I asked casually. "Or can't you stop pacing long enough to answer."

  She glared at me and forced herself to sit down on the sofa across from me.

  "I'm in the field of sexual research," she said, keeping her voice frosted. My eyebrows shot upward. I could feel them go, and I grinned at her.

  "Now that sounds like a fun topic."

  Her eyes were as icy as her voice. "I've been doing work on the effects of stress, strain and anxiety on human sexual response."

  I turned that one over in my mind as I grinned at her. It was a subject I could tell her a few things about.

  "All interview stuff?" I asked.

  "Interviews, detailed reports from selected subjects and observation, also of selected subjects." She was trying to sound terribly detached and scientific.

  "Oh?" My grin widened. "That's a pretty large field — and an interesting one."

  Her eyes flashed and she started to answer, then thought better of it. But the proud lift of her chin as she turned away said it all — she was a scientist with ideals and high purpose, and I was a government agent with a dirty mind.

  I had my doubts about the scientific detachment of anybody, no matter how idealistic, who stood around taking notes and «observing» while people made love, but I wasn't about to argue the point She was too pretty to argue with. Besides, I was beginning to think that my presence was keeping her from making any moves. Maybe if I left, she would try to join Carlsbad, in which case I could tail her.

  I turned and started for the door. Pausing, I took a piece of paper from my pocket and wrote on it before handing it to her. I wanted to make it look good.

  "Don't leave town, and if you see or hear from Dr. Carlsbad, call this number," I said. She took the slip of paper without looking at it.

  "I'll be back," I grinned at her, letting my eyes linger on the tips of her breasts. "For one reason or another."

  Her china-blue eyes registered nothing, but I saw the faint tightening of her lips and I knew she was watching me through the small hall window as I walked to the car, got in and drove away. I looked back at the house as I turned the corner and again wondered why in hell Carlsbad wanted to live in such a run-down old antique.

  I drove around the block and then stopped. Moving quickly and silently, I crossed to the edge of the woods behind the house where Hawk said one of the FBI boys was watching the place. He'd said he was staying in constant touch with them via walkie-talkie; contacting them would be the fastest way for me to get hold of him.

  Once at the edge of the woods I moved slowly. I didn't want a bullet in my gut. Chances were the FBI boys would be cautious before shooting, but you couldn't be sure. I crawled on my hands and knees through the underbrush and cast a look at the house. I was directly behind it now.

  "N3… AXE," I said in a hoarse whisper, pausing to wait. There was no answer. I moved forward and called out again in a half-whisper. I saw an arm raise from behind a cluster of brush. The arm beckoned to me. I went toward it and a man moved into view, young, even-featured, his eyes on me steady. He held a regulation.38 in one hand. I put Wilhelmina into my holster.

  "Nick Carter, AXE," I said. I gave him an identifying code and mentioned Hawk. He relaxed and I halted beside him. He nodded past me and I turned to see another agent, a carbine in his hands, move toward us from behind a tree. He had had me covered too.

  "Got any more around?" I grinned at my man.

  "Just us two," he smiled. "That's enough." In most cases he would have been right. Nothing, as I was to learn, was enough in this one. "I need to contact Hawk on your electronic smoke-signal," I said. He handed it to me. They were both staying low, and I followed their example. With the walkie-talkie in my hand, I turned abruptly and moved down on my right elbow.

  I was lucky. The first shot hit the walkie-talkie where my head had just been, exploding it in a blast of metal. I whirled, turning my face away, but not before I caught some of the metal and felt small rivulets of
blood erupt on my face. It seemed as though the whole damn wooded area exploded next in a hail of automatic weapon shots combined with rifle fire.

  The agent with the carbine rose up, shuddered and fell dead. I'd landed behind a cluster of shrubs and saw figures — two, four, six of them — coming at us through the trees, all carrying weapons. I swore. Damn them, they'd figured the house would be watched and the woods behind it was the most likely spot. So they watched the watchers, surprising the surprisers.

  The agent nearest to me was firing, and the figures darted from behind trees, spreading out fan-like. If he fired at one or two, the others stepped out to pour lead in his direction and he had to keep firing and rolling, firing and rolling. It was a technique marked for doom, and the slugs from the automatic weapons were tearing up the ground at his head. I lay silent, Wilhelmina in my hand. I saw the FBI agent getting close to the clear ground at the edge of the wooded area and realized what he was going to try to do.

  "You haven't a chance that way," I whispered hoarsely at him. But he was out of earshot. He avoided two more bursts of automatic weapon fire, reached the clear ground and leaped to his feet to run. He took maybe five steps before the hail of bullets caught him and he went down.

  I lay still and glanced toward the house. A black Chevy sedan was at the curb in front of the place. It had pulled up as the FBI men were being cut down. Men were entering the house to get the girl while the field men took care of things out back. I caught a glimpse of Rita Kenmore's light blue blouse through the rear window of the house.

  Looking back into the woods I saw the line of killers, not more than dark shapes, fanned out and moving carefully, slowly, searching for me. They'd seen me when they opened fire, and knew there had been three men. So far they'd only accounted for two. I had to be in there someplace, and they moved in wide-apart lanes to trap me. No matter how fast I fired, I couldn't get more than half of them before the others would zero in on me. And running for it would only bring the same fate as had caught the FBI agent.