Assassination Brigade

by Nick Carter

  I scrubbed every inch of my skin and hair under the stinging hot water and then rinsed off with an ice cold shower. Afterwards I tied a fresh towel around my waist and went back to the bedroom. Elsa had pulled the spread down on the bed and was standing beside it.

  “Sretch out, face-down,” she ordered, patting the bed. When I hesitated, she gave me a light push. As I sprawled on the bed on my stomach, she whisked the towel away, saying, “Relax now, I give you a massage.”

  She produced a small bottle of lotion that she had brought from her suite, with a pungent lemon odor. Then she slipped off her robe, straddled my body, and began to apply the lotion to my back and shoulder blades. It was an astringent solution that first made my skin tingle and then sent a deep, soothing warmth into my muscles.

  “What’s that stuff you’re using?” I asked, turning my head to look at Elsa as she leaned forward over me.

  “It’s an old Von Alden home remedy,” she answered. “Guaranteed to give beneficial results.”

  Her caressing hands kneaded my flesh like a healing balm, moving up and down as lightly as a warm, sweet breath over the length of my body. Then Elsa raised to her knees and ordered me to roll over.

  I faced her and lay between her spread legs. She began to lubricate the front of my body, her lightly tracing fingers circling, moving from my chest to my stomach, to my groin, down the sides of my legs to my toes. When she leaned close over me, her soft hair brushed against my bare flesh, and my nostrils were filled with its perfumed scent. For a long time, she seemed to work with an intense concentration that was almost hypnotic, but soon I became aware that her breathing was more rapid and her flesh had become moist and was quivering.

  I raised my head and looked at her. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted so that the tip of her pink tongue showed. I pulled her mouth to mine as I rolled her beneath me. Her arching hips strained upward. We met and joined silently and reached a climax simultaneously without a word.

  I was more asleep than awake when our bodies parted. She stood up beside the bed, holding her robe. But when she leaned over and kissed me, I felt my body remembering again and was ready and eager for more. She laughed softly at the sight of my arousal and whispered, “I forgot to tell you, Dumplink, that sometimes that Von Alder remedy also acts as an aphrodisiac.” She kissed me. “Sleep,” she whispered.

  I slept for twenty-four hours and might have slept longer if the ringing phone hadn’t awakened me. It was Hawk calling.

  “I hope you got some rest,” he said. “I’m in Paris. Meet me here at the office as soon as you can. More bad news, I’m afraid. You might as well let the Von Alder woman come with you so you can keep an eye on her. I’ll make reservations for both of you at the Hotel V George.”

  Elsa was pleased when I told her that I’d like her to accompany me to Paris. I phoned Chiclet to thank him and bid him farewell, and in less than an hour, Elsa and I were driving back to Nice to board the jet.

  Thirteen

  It was raining when we landed at Orly. As soon as I had deposited Elsa at the George V, where Hawk had reserved adjoining suites for us, I took a taxi to the Paris AXE office, which was located above a cafe on the Place St.-Michel. The offices were on die three top floors of the building and were soundproofed from the noise below. The proprietor of the establishment was an AXE agent whose code name was Bonaparte.

  He greeted me at the door and led me to the stairs in the back that led to the offices above. As we passed through the smoky diningroom and bar, I was surprised to see that although there were many customers in the place, there were also some thirty or forty security police and AXE agents whom I recognized from previous encounters. I knew that something important must be taking place.

  Hawk met me on the second floor. His face was grim, and he barely nodded as he led me into a private office and shut and locked the door.

  “It looks like there’s no end to this business,” he said as he took an envelope from his pocket and passed it over to me. He stood with his back to me, looking out the window at the dark rain beating against the panes, while I read the letter inside the envelope.

  The letter was typewritten: THE CHINESE NUCLEAR MISSILE WHICH DISAPPEARED 12 HOURS AGO WILL BE RETURNED IN EXCHANGE FOR $2,000,000. IF AGREEABLE, INSERT A CLASSIFIED AD IN THE LONDON TIMES TWO DAYS HENCE, READ: “ALEXANDER—TERMS ACCEPTED-(SIGNED) KUBLAI KHAN.” FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW.

  The envelope had no address on it. Hawk, who had turned from the window, saw me frowning at die envelope and explained, “It was shoved under the door of the Chinese Embassy yesterday morning.”

  “And it’s true that a Chinese nuclear missile disappeared?” I asked.

  “All too true,” Hawk answered bitterly. “It happened within hours after you turned over the money from Satane Roc. You will note that the sum requested is exactly the same as the amount recovered from the casino.”

  “You mean that a Chinese nuclear missile actually disappeared?” I was incredulous.

  “Apparently,” Hawk pointed out, “there is no limit to our enemy’s ingenuity. Soon after your experience on the island, the Chinese were flying a nuclear missile to a secret testing site when the plane simply vanished. Until this note arrived, the Chinese thought the plane had crashed.”

  “What about the crew?” I asked, puzzled. “They must have been well screened before they were picked for an assignment like that.”

  “Oh, yes,” Hawk agreed. “But it may be a significant lead that only a few weeks ago, the pilot, who was one of the most trusted and loyal men in the Chinese airforce, was out of China on an assignment to Albania. He wasn’t watched closely while he was there, and, in fact, the Chinese cannot account for his activities during several days of the visit. They are still checking. It’s probable that during that time he was reached by our adversary who might have tampered with his brain.”

  “Are the Chinese going to pay the ransom?” I asked, handing the letter back to Hawk.

  He nodded. “That’s why we’re meeting here now. Come on upstairs.”

  On the top floor of the building, four Chinese gentlemen, looking dour and a bit suspicious, were waiting. Their presence explained the tight security in the building. One of the men was an interpreter and, through him, Hawk introduced me to the other three whose names I recognized as being high-ranking members of the Chinese Communist party. Each gave me a penetrating look as we exchanged handshakes. Then all three spoke in rapid Chinese to the interpreter.

  “They say,” the interpreter said to me, “that they are honored to have such a distinguished representative aid them in recovering the nuclear missile. They also say that the chairman of the party has spoken with your president and that he has instructed them to cooperate with you in every way.”

  “I, too, am honored,” I said to the interpreter. “I shall try to be worthy of the trust of the People’s Republic.”

  That formality done, I asked, “Has a decision been made about paying the two million dollars?”

  The interpreter conferred with his countrymen again and then handed me a large leather satchel that was engraved with Chinese characters and equipped with a lock. The interpreter unlocked it and opened to reveal packets of bills inside.

  “Two million dollars,” he said. “Tomorrow’s edition of the London Times will carry the classified ad worded as the note instructed.”

  “All right,” I said. “Lock the money up again. I want it to remain in your possession until we receive further word.”

  After the interpreter had translated my words, the three men bowed their heads gravely, and we again shook hands. Hawk told me that arrangements had already been made to have the Chinese representatives remain in the living quarters at the AXE office until there had been a response to the London Times ad. In that way, the ransom money would be well guarded until payoff time came.

  Hawk rode back with me in a taxi to the hotel. It was dusk. The rain and the depressing weather seemed a perfect match for our moods.


  “Whoever’s behind this,” Hawk muttered, “must be enjoying our predicament. Imagine stealing a nuclear missile and offering it back for ransom!”

  “He chose some clever names for the ad,” I remarked. “Alexander and Kublai Khan.”

  “He’s a madman, but a very cunning one,” Hawk observed. “What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on him.” He glanced at me.

  When we reached the hotel, Hawk dropped me off and continued on to the American Embassy where he would be staying while in Paris.

  When I reached my suite, I was surprised to find a note from Elsa. It said that she had been invited to a party in Montmartre and that she was going ahead. She left the address for me so that I could join her if I liked. I decided, instead, to have a couple of chilled martinis and a good dinner in my room. Before I went to bed, I phoned the desk to have a copy of the London Times delivered to me early the next morning.

  Elsa still hadn’t returned to the hotel by the time I received my copy of the newspaper early the next day, and I couldn’t tell if there was anything significant in her overnight absence. The ad was there in the Times, though, worded exactly as the ransom note had instructed. As I read it, I imagined a pleased “Alexander” reading it too. He could be in Paris, or in London, or in Monte Carlo, or, for that matter, in Tibet.

  I was anxious to get to the AXE office, which, I knew, would be the first place to know if further instructions were received. I was dressed and leaving the suite when Elsa returned.

  She was still in an evening gown, with a mink coat slung over her shoulders. She looked drowsy, but she smiled and kissed me, letting the coat fall to the floor. Then she turned for me to unzip the back of her gown.

  “I missed you at the party, Dumplink,” she said. “It was great fun. Lots of Frenchmen. The party’s still going on, if you want to go.”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I have some business to attend to. You sleep, and I’ll phone you later.”

  “Business, business, business,” she said, patting my face. “Remember, all work and no play makes Tony a dull boy.” She stepped out of her gown and crossed over to the connecting door to her suite, looking very desirable in her sheer bra and pantyhose. She paused briefly in the doorway and beckoned to me with her finger. When I shook my head, she blew me a kiss and disappeared.

  Fourteen

  As soon as I reached the cafe on Place St. Michel and went upstairs to the AXE office, I could feel the tension and gloom that permeated the whole place. Outside the sun was shining and there was a false spring in die air, but whatever cheer the weather contained vanished at the walls of the building.

  Hawk was there, looking more haggard than he had looked the night before, and so were the four Chinese, along with several dozen AXE agents and security men. All of us had arrived too early, and our impatience grew as the long hours dragged by. It wasn’t until noon that we finally received the message we had been waiting for. And, of course, it came in a roundabout way.

  We received a phone call from Interpol’s Paris office, saying that they had received a package from a messenger for their local chief. When he had opened the package, he had found a sealed box and a typewritten note, which said that the box should be delivered to the Chinese Embassy at once. Since the chief of Interpol had been informed of the crisis, he had immediately called Hawk and had then sped to the AXE office. Meanwhile Interpol agents had picked lip the messenger, who was authentic, and when they had questioned him about the man who had given him the package for delivery, he had given a description that could have fit ten thousand Frenchmen.

  The box contained a recording tape. We crowded around while Hawk threaded the tape into an office machine. As the tape rolled, a voice said, “This is Alexander. I have received your message and now give you the following instructions. Late this afternoon, the thirtieth, a ship flying a white flag with a red dragon imprinted on it will appear in the Adriatic Sea and enter the harbor at Split, Yugoslavia. This ship will have the Chinese nuclear missile on its deck. One of your vessels may approach it with the two million dollars. Once the money has been placed in the hands of the men aboard, the missile will be returned. If any attempt is made to recover the missile without paying the money, it will be exploded.”

  The words on the tape told us nothing of the person who had spoken them—or, rather, persons, for every other sentence had been spoken by a different voice, and their accents had ranged from British to German to Brooklyn. The brains behind the plot had remained invisible.

  After the tape had been transcribed and copies had been made, hurried phone calls were placed to secure a plane to fly us to the Adriatic coast and to have a large, fast ship waiting for us near Split, Yugoslavia. Even while these arrangements were being made, Hawk was busy making plans for die time when the missile had been recovered.

  Not much later, Hawk, the Chinese representatives with ransom money, several AXE agents, and I drove to Orly and flew by jet to die Adriatic. The Yugoslavian Government had been contacted through diplomatic channels and had a sleek, swift ship waiting for us when we arrived.

  There was a cold, bitter wind blowing off the sea as we approached the harbor and dropped anchor near the shore at Split. No other vessels were in sight. As we paced the deck, Hawk began to mutter, “I hope this isn’t a trick, Nick.”

  After another couple of hours had passed and the day had started to fade into twilight, I was beginning to think that Hawk might have been right. But then, quite suddenly, a large white ship appeared at the mouth to the harbor, and it was flying a white flag with a red dragon emblazoned on it. It dropped anchor off the starboard bow of our vessel, and a man in a captain’s uniform stepped to the rail, raised a bullhorn, and shouted, “Ahoy, I bring you greetings from Alexander. Do you have die money?”

  Hawk handed me a similar bullhorn. “It’s your show,” he said.

  “We have die money,” I replied through the bullhorn. “We are ready to complete the transaction.”

  “You may come aboard,” the captain shouted back.

  A couple of the crewmen aboard our ship lowered a small motorboat over the side. Two of the Chinese, one of them carrying the satchel with the money, and I crossed to the other ship. We were assisted to the deck by the captain and several of his crew. There was a huge object covered by lashed-down canvas on the forward deck. It must have been the missile, but I was still wary. Several other men were on deck, but the only one I recognized was Tregor, the Belgian.

  The captain was cordial, and he led us to a large stateroom on the main deck where chilled champagne was waiting.

  “You have the money?” he asked.

  I nodded to the Chinese, who handed over the satchel.

  “You have no objection to letting us count it before we turn the missile over to you, do you?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Please, gentlemen, do have some champagne while you’re waiting,” the captain offered as he left the room with the money.

  Neither of the Chinese would accept a glass of champagne from die steward, but I did. It was good vintage wine and perfectly chilled. I had two glasses while the Chinese fidgeted uncomfortably in their chairs. When the captain returned he was smiling and nodding his head.

  “Very good, gentlemen,” he said. “All seems to be in order. If you’ll accompany me to the deck, we can conclude our business.”

  I wasn’t greatly surprised when we were topside again to see that the crewmen had removed the canvas from the object on the forward deck. It was a nuclear missile already fitted into a hoist.

  The two Chinese checked die missile suspiciously before they were satisfied that all was in good order. They nodded to me gravely, and I nodded to the captain.

  He seemed pleased as he picked up the bullhorn again and called to the waiting Yugoslavian ship, telling it to come in close so that the missile could be lowered to its decks. The two Chinese and I remained aboard while the crew worked the hoist, swinging the giant missile up into th
e air and then down to the deck of our ship where we had already prepared a cradle to hold it. I could see the expression of relief on Hawk’s face when he saw the missile standing on the deck, safely aboard at last.

  After die captain of the white ship and I had exchanged brief handshakes, I returned to our vessel with the Chinese.

  “No trouble?” Hawk asked me at once.

  “None,” I said.

  “If I know you, though,” Hawk said, looking at me closely, “something’s bothering you.”

  “It was all too simple.” I replied. “They must know that since we’ve got the missile back safely, we aren’t just going to sit here and let them sail away with the two million dollars.”

  “Perhaps they haven’t thought of the plan we would use,” Hawk said.

  “I doubt that.”

  “Well, at any rate, they’re pulling up anchor to leave,” Hawk observed, pointing to the ship that was turning in the harbor. “I’m putting our plan into effect.” He was holding a radio transmitter in his hand, and he began to speak into it rapidly, alerting all the vessels waiting just outside the harbor—Italian vessels, Greek ships, Yugoslavian, even some Russian cruisers—all those that had been sent in to apprehend our enemy.

  As the white ship steamed toward the harbor mouth, we began to trail it at some distance. Just before it reached open sea, our armada of ships appeared. They were still distant, and Hawk hadn’t yet ordered them to close in. The white ship suddenly came to a stop in the center of the mouth of the harbor. Hawk started to speak into the transmitter again, but I stopped him.

  “Hold it, just for a moment,” I suggested.

  “Why? What is it?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t know how to answer him, but I felt something was wrong. Several minutes passed, and nothing happened. Hawk and I both had binoculars trained on the deck of the ship—it was deserted. Hawk still had the radio transmitter in his hand and was growing impatient. I was beginning to doubt my intuition and was about to tell him to give the order to close in when it happened.