Assault on England

by Nick Carter

  "Of course you may look around." He gave me a tight smile. "It will give me a chance to chat with Heather."

  Heather gave him a warm look. I watched his face. He seemed to be studying her now, as if trying to determine if she were friend or enemy.

  He pushed the intercom button and asked his secretary to call a Mr. Burroughs who would show me around while Jupiter and Heather had tea in a lounge down the corridor.

  As we waited for Mr. Burroughs, I said to Jupiter casually, "I understand there was an auto manufacturers' convention here in London recently."

  "Yes." He nodded. "I attended with my sales director and his assistant. The meetings fell far short of expectation. There's too little cooperation between companies here in England."

  "It's the same in the States, I think," I said.

  "Yes," he said slowly. "And what is it you do there, Mr. Matthews?"

  "I'm in public health, same as Heather here. She's been assigned to show me London."

  Heather pulled out a cigarette and deliberately fumbled her lighter. It fell to the carpeted floor. I stood as if to pick the thing up for her but Jupiter beat me to it. As he lighted her cigarette, I pressed the stem on the watch I was wearing. Besides keeping perfect time it took excellent pictures.

  The intercom buzzed. Jupiter reached over and flicked the switch. "Yes? Good, send him right in." He glanced over at me. "It's Burroughs at last."

  Mr. Burroughs was amiable but almost as bored as I was with the tour. In the sales division I was introduced to Forsythe and Smythe, the two men who'd attended the convention at the Royal Hotel with Jupiter. Forsythe was a gray-haired distinguished type; Smythe about fifteen years his junior and pushy, the type of salesman who shoves his foot in the door when he's selling house to house. Somehow I didn't see either of them as our man, but we'd have Brutus check them out anyway.

  Jupiter seemed a bit tense when Heather and I said good-bye finally. He focused those cold eyes on me and said, with complete insincerity, "Come back any time, Mr. Matthews. Glad to have you."

  "Thanks," I said, returning the chilly stare.

  Walking toward West Kensington station, Heather and I assessed our morning's work. "Burroughs hinted the company is in financial "trouble because of high government taxes," I told her.

  "Interesting," she said. "I got a set of prints, I think, on the cigarette lighter. Did you manage any photos?"

  "One of him and a couple of the papers on his desk, for his handwriting." I lit cigarettes for us as we walked. "I also met Forsythe and Smythe, but I think Jupiter is our man. I'd just like to know how he found out I'm an agent."

  "He knows I'm an agent too," Heather said. "I'm sure of it. But we got what we wanted and that's the important thing."

  "I just hope it all adds up to something," I said.

  She regarded me soberly. "I remembered something else, Nick, while I had tea with Jupiter. Remember the day the Foreign Secretary was assassinated, I told you I'd run into Elmo Jupiter when I met you outside?"

  I stopped and looked at her. I had forgotten that "Yes," I said slowly, something stirring in my memory, "you said you'd just seen him, right near the Foreign Office. What was he doing around there, did he say?"

  She shook her head. "Not really. Oh, I went through the usual polite bit, 'Why, Elmo Jupiter, what brings you to this part of town? I think he said a friend but I wasn't really listening. Then he started pressing for a date and I got away as soon as I decently could."

  "'A friend, " I said, shaking my head. "It's always possible, of course, but it's too much of a coincidence."

  "I certainly could believe he's our killer," Heather said, shuddering. "Those eyes! They give me the creeps."

  I stopped dead. "That's it! The janitor! That's what's been working at the back of my mind. He had the same build as Jupiter and the same hard-looking eyes. I was right — the hair and mustache were phony. It was Jupiter, I'm sure of it. And it fits! He recognized me when he bumped into me in the corridor and concluded, rightly, that I was with the security people. He was afraid of just this, afraid I'd see him again and remember, so he sent those thugs to kill me."

  "I think it's time for another chat with Brutus," Heather said.

  We found her boss in his office. He was in a foul mood, having just returned from London Airport where he had been overseeing the loading of fourteen million pounds sterling aboard a military jet. The money had been packed in steel boxes and guarded by SOE agents.

  We briefed him on our trip to Jupiter Motors, then gave Brutus Heather's cigarette lighter and the film from my watch camera. He rushed them to scientific division and we settled down to wait.

  The results were not long in coming, only a half hour. A clerk handed Brutus a folded file. As he read it, his brow furrowed. Finally he said, "It seems, Nick, you and Heather have gotten the fingerprints of a dead man."

  He handed me the file. The first page was the police record of John Elmore.

  "There's no doubt?" I asked.

  Brutus shook his head gravely. "The fingerprints match perfectly."

  "Then he must have staged that fight with Scotland Yard, left a body behind and sneaked out somehow while the fire was raging. He could have had plastic surgery performed on his face and gone into the automobile business. All these years he was operating in the clear. But why now, out of the blue, would he…"

  "Well find out after we pick him up," Brutus said, reaching for the telephone.

  "You'd better pick good men, sir," I told him. "If Jupiter is our man, and it certainly looks like it, he's very clever. And extremely dangerous."

  "No need to remind me," Brutus huffed.

  After he got off the phone I offered to go along with his men. "No need," he brushed off my offer. "You two've done enough today."

  "What about the money now?" Heather asked him.

  "I've spoken to the Prime Minister — the white flag is flying above Parliament and he is not impressed yet with what we've done so far. He remembers Novosty."

  "But this is different!" Heather pleaded.

  "You have to remember," Brutus said, "that absolute panic reigns at the moment. Parliament insists that something be done to stop the killings. And the shipment can still be stopped in Switzerland if Elmo Jupiter does turn out to be the assassin."

  We left him a few moments later and walked through the building, headed for the parking area and the beautiful yellow Porsche 911 Heather had rented.

  "I think we're entitled to a good lunch," she said as we reached the car.

  I agreed. "I'm famished."

  Heather started to get behind the wheel, but I stopped her. "You're not the only sports car buff in the crowd."

  I took the wheel. She chuckled and climbed in beside me. "Do you like Greek mousaka?" she asked.

  "If it's made with plenty of meat," I said, starting the engine.

  "Then I'll make you a nice meal while we wait to hear from Brutus," she said.

  * * *

  We were lying side by side on the long sofa in Heather's flat. I was digesting the mousaka, which had been delicious. Heather was certainly an amazing girl.

  "A penny for your thoughts," she said. She was lying against my chest, running a hand seductively along my jaw.

  I took the hint and turned to her. I buried my face in her hair, drawing in the scent of her perfume. I nibbled on her ear and she uttered a low, deep moan. She lifted her face to mine, and as T kissed her I undid the row of buttons of her housecoat. I slipped around her back, found the clasp of her bra and unsnapped it. She pulled the housecoat off her shoulders and threw the bra away. I played with her nipples, teasing them with my teeth. They grew hard as pebbles.

  Slowly I caressed her shoulder, then the outer rim of her breast. She sucked in her breath sharply when I did that, then bit down on my lip.

  Lightly I ran my fingers over her thighs and hips, distributed kisses across her breast. That was as much as she could take.

  She guided me to her, making the union he
rself, arching her lovely back into it and thrusting to meet me until I was deep in her. The familiar sound of pleasure purred in her throat. My mind and body centered on the primal urge to penetrate and explore and ravish this lovely female who was, for the moment, part of me. Our passion grew, mounted… and erupted in total fulfillment.

  Nine

  The phone rang just minutes after we'd finished. Heather put the receiver to her ear, listened a few moments, then gasped. "Yes sir, right away," she said, then hung up.

  "Brutus?" I asked.

  "Yes," her head bobbed up and down. "Jupiter has disappeared. He's nowhere to be found, not at his office or his home."

  "Maybe he is just out."

  "Brutus doesn't think so," she said. "He believes Jupiter suspects we know about him."

  I pondered that for a second. Brutus was probably right. A man with Jupiter's intelligence would suspect something about our sudden visit to his place. After thinking about it he'd probably decided to play it safe, to hide out somewhere.

  I got off the sofa and started to dress. Heather headed for the bedroom. "Brutus wants to see us immediately, if not sooner, at his office," she said over her shoulder.

  We were ready in ten minutes and walked down the stairs from Heather's flat to the street. It was late afternoon and the early autumn sun was already setting. The sleek Porsche 911 was parked around the corner on a cobblestoned side street. Just as we reached the car, two men stepped out of a building entrance and confronted us. Each held a revolver in his right hand.

  "Blimey!" Heather said softly.

  "Hold it just there," the man closest to us said. He was a narrow-shouldered, thin-faced character whose pale blue eyes never left my face. His buddy was stockier with a soccer player's legs. "Search the girl," the thin man told him, then, to me, "Stand still."

  He patted me down and he did a good job — he found Wilhelmina and Hugo.

  "What's all this?" I asked, though I could make a good guess.

  "Never mind," the soccer player said, shoving Heather's little purse with the Sterling in his pocket. He nodded toward the curb where a black Rolls-Royce was pulling up in front of the Porsche. "Just hop in."

  We didn't seem to have much choice. Heather went first, the thin man moving up beside her. I followed with his pal.

  "Where are you taking us?" Heather asked.

  "You'll find out," the thin man said. We were at the curb now. "Get in."

  "And no funny business," the man beside me added.

  The driver of the Rolls made no move to get out of the car. I had my eye on the gun my man was holding on me, but I didn't know if Heather was tuned in to the possibility of moving against them. In the next second, I found out.

  "Nick!" she shouted, and chopped sidewise at the thin man's gun hand. His revolver clattered to the sidewalk as Heather hit him again, this time in the face.

  In the meantime, I'd kicked out at the soccer player's knee and connected with a loud crack. He yelled and doubled over, grabbing the leg. While he was distracted, I grabbed for his gun.

  Heather now had a good hold on the thin man. She let his own momentum carry him off-balance then, using her body as a lever, threw him violently across the hood of the Rolls. He landed on his back.

  Heather moved after the gun he'd dropped but had trouble locating it. I was still trying to wrestle the gun away from the soccer player who was putting up quite a fight.

  I heard Heather shout, "Got it!" as she finally came up with the thin man's gun… too late.

  "Drop it or I'll blow a bleeding hole through you." The driver of the Rolls had joined the act with a big ugly revolver he was holding aimed at Heather's back.

  Heather groaned, glanced over at me and saw that I was in no position to help and dropped the gun.

  "Now," the driver said, swinging his gun toward me, "you stay right there. You come here, birdie."

  Heather moved to him. He slapped her hard and almost knocked her down. 'Turn and put your arms behind you," he said.

  He nodded to the thin man who'd limped over to retrieve the gun Heather had dropped. He came over, took a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and slipped them around Heather's slender wrists. She gasped as he pressed them closed, far too tight. I cursed him under my breath.

  The driver came over to me now. He was a heavy man with a slightly flabby face. He gave me a very nasty look and swung his revolver against my head. I grunted and went down, bleeding from a cut forehead. Then he and the soccer player jerked my hands behind me and locked a pair of cuffs on my wrists. They hauled me to my feet and shoved me into the Rolls. The thin man pushed Heather in beside me.

  We drove for over an hour, the lights of London gradually fading behind us. It was black night when we turned into the drive of a country estate and the Rolls stopped at the main door of a large stone house. The three thugs got out of the car.

  "All right, you two. Out" The thin man was giving the orders again.

  They dragged us out of the back seat. "Inside," the thin man said, indicating the house.

  The place was very elegant, with the look and feel of Old England. We stepped into a high-ceilinged reception hall. Lights were on but nobody met us.

  "He said to take them to the tower," the driver reminded the others.

  They marched us along a corridor to a narrow circular stairwell. It had a dank, musty smell. We climbed slowly up worn stone steps by the light of dim bulbs set at sparse intervals. At the top, the thin man stuck an iron key into the rusty lock of a heavy oak door and pushed the door open. We entered a circular stone room with a single barred window.

  "Well, this is it Rest well." The thin man grinned.

  There was no furniture in the room.

  "How about taking the cuffs off the girl?" I asked.

  The thin man turned back to me. "Cuffs off the bird, you say?"

  "That's right," I said. "Look how red her wrists are, you're cutting the circulation off."

  "Ah! Circulation, is it?" he said. "Is that what's worrying you?"

  He hauled off and slugged me. I dropped to one knee and he lacked me in the side. I grunted and fell over.

  "There you are, Yank!" he said. "That should improve your ruddy circulation!" He laughed and so did the soccer player. The driver just looked bored.

  They left the room. We heard the key turn in the lock and then their footsteps, growing fainter and fainter, as they went back down the stairs.

  Ten

  "I'm sorry, love. I just can't manage it."

  "It's all right," I said. Heather moved away from me and slumped to the floor, her back against the wall. She was very pale and looked completely exhausted.

  "We've been in this bloody place for hours and hours now," she said angrily. She had just been attempting, for the sixth time, to unfasten the difficult clasp on the buckle of my belt but her hands were too swollen, she just could not manipulate them well enough, and we needed that belt and the buckle.

  "I'm sorry, baby," I said.

  "Do you think anyone will ever come?" she asked.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe Jupiter intends to let us die up here but somehow I doubt it. I think he wants to find out how much we know first."

  It was daylight; a warm sun filtered through the high barred window in the wall, but the heavy oak door remained shut.

  I looked down again at the belt and buckle that Special Effects and Editing had supplied me with. It contained plastic explosives and a tiny disassembled blowgun, but if I couldn't get it off, it was of no use.

  "I'm thirsty," Heather said.

  I opened my mouth to reply when I heard something on the stairs. It grew louder. Someone was coming up. "Listen," I said, "we have visitors."

  A moment later, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Elmo Jupiter stood in the doorway, tall and imposing. The driver of the Rolls-Royce stood behind him with a gun.

  "Well!" Jupiter said brightly. "We meet again. And so soon."

  Heather's eyes dar
kened. "You bloody bastard!"

  Jupiter clucked his tongue. "Such language for a lady." He moved into the room. "I hope you've found the accommodations comfortable."

  "If you ever had any feeling for Heather," I said grimly, "you'll bring her some water. And loosen those damned cuffs."

  He regarded me coldly. "How delighted I am that you accepted my invitation too," he said smoothly. "You who have made such a determined effort to wreck my plan."

  "I didn't succeed," I told him "Your money should be in Switzerland by now. Haven't they told you?"

  "They've told me," he said. "I gave your people further instructions, but they haven't acted on them." He pushed his big hand through his dark blond hair. The scar stood out vividly on his neck. "Could it be that SOE is playing cat and mouse with me — Mr. Carter?"

  So he knew my true identity. Jupiter's underground intelligence network was certainly top-notch. I could see that he was waiting for my reaction, so I ignored it completely. "Nobody's playing games, Jupiter. But SOE may doubt your motives since we've disappeared. What do you hope to accomplish? Are you doing this for the money, or do you just enjoy killing?"

  He laughed at that 'They taught me how to kill and I refined the practice to an art." Suddenly the smile was gone and a different mood struck him. "Yes, I enjoy killing when it removes the leeches from my flesh. I tried to play their game but they held all the high cards you see. Now they must play by my rules. And they must pay, Mr. Carter, in more ways than one. Does that answer your question?"

  "Explicitly," I said. "Just one more question: how did Fergus know you were the assassin?"

  Jupiter looked at me dumbly. "Fergus? Who's Fergus?"

  "Augie Fergus. He was in your commando unit."

  Jupiter's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, yes. Fergus. I remember him now. Good night fighter." Then he snapped his fingers in recall. "The hospital. Of course. He was wounded in the same action I was. Occupied the bed next to mine. Most of the time we had nothing to do but talk about where we'd go after the war. I remember now. That was when the germ of my plan was born. We were discussing all sorts of ways a man could make a million pounds, and I said how easy it would be to extort the money from the government. Just kill a few cabinet ministers, then demand… oh, I don't remember the figure… for the safety of the rest. You say Fergus knew John Elmore is the assassin? He must have remembered the conversation, then put two and two together. But that doesn't matter now, does it, Mr. Carter?"