by John Blaine
Rick asked, “Is that the only German you know?”
The man shrugged. “No. I know a little more than that.Very well, Mr. Brant and Mr.
Scott. I accept your word. You are going to bed.”
“Correct.” Rick made a guess. “ACTION has nothing to worry about. For your
information, we will leave a call foreight o’clock tomorrow morning. You can join us for coffee, if you’re still on duty.”
“Thank you. I may do so.” The man turned and walked off.
The boys watched until he turned a corner, then reversed course and headed for their hotel. “So ACTION knows our names,” Scotty commented.
“Easy to find that out,” Rick said. “Once we registered at the hotel, any one of a dozen people could either have checked the register or sneaked a look at our passports. That’s why I guessed he was from ACTION. The big man on the mountain didn’t seem
disturbed when we wouldn’t give him our names. He knew he could get them easily.
Besides, we have no evidence either of the other groups knows we’re on the trail.”
They left a call with the porter foreight o’clock , asking that coffee and rolls be served at that time, then took the elevator to their rooms. Rick looked at his watch. It waseight o’clock . Twelve hours’ sleep would be just about right, he decided.
First, though, he wanted to send a note home, and one to his father inCopenhagen .
Taking some paper and envelopes from the desk drawer, he got busy.
Scotty undressed, brushed his teeth,then walked to the windows, across which long heavy draperies had been drawn. The windows, which were French style, opened on a small balcony.
Scotty took a long time getting the windows adjusted. Rick’s sixth sense alerted him; he stopped writing and watched while Scotty stepped onto the small balcony. In a moment he was back in the room again, whistling a tune.
“I want plenty of fresh air tonight,” Scotty said. “Aren’t you through writing those notes, yet?”
“Almost,” Rick replied.
“Let’s see what you’ve written.”
Scotty came over to the desk, picked up the pen, and scribbled on a blank sheet of paper, “Bug behind drapes. Wire goes to edge of our balcony.Into balcony next room.”
Aloud, Scotty said, “Be sure to give the folks my best. I’m going to take a shower before going to bed.”
He got quickly into his clothes, then turned on all faucets in the bathroom. Rick sealed the note to his mother into an envelope and addressed it, then joined Scotty. He knew what his pal was doing. The sound of rushing water would help to conceal any noises they made. Scotty was getting dressed so they could pay a visit next door.
Rick slid back the door bolt and unlocked the door.
When Scotty was ready, he opened the door cautiously and let it close behind them softly, leaving it unlocked.
They walked to the next door and Rick pointed to himself. Scotty nodded, and got into position for a rush. Rick knocked on the door.
In a moment a voice asked, “Who is it?” Rick put on his best French accent.“A message for Monsieur.” They heard the bolt slide back, then the key turn in the lock. The doorknob turned and a crack showed. Scotty slammed into the door like a battering ram and crashed in, with Rick close on his heels.
CHAPTER XIII
A Cliff to Hang From
The occupant of the room lay sprawled on his back, Scotty lifted the man quickly to his feet while Rick patted his clothes and took a snub-nosed pistol from a shoulder holster.
The pistol was a Smith and Wesson, of American manufacture.
Scotty released the man, who was shaking his head groggily from the impact, and pushed him to a seat on the bed.
“We’re interested in knowing why you bugged our room,” Scotty said coldly.“Talk.”
The man was young. He looked like an American. His nose was bleeding, and swelling rapidly. Apparently it had caught the full weight of the impact. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose.
“I’m not a betting man,” he said, “or I’d put money on this. You two are Rick Brant and Don Scott.”
“You’d win,” Rick said. “And who are you?”
The man sighed. “I’m a professional idiot.Name of Walter Benson. I’m the Assistant Military Attache at the American Embassy, inBerne .”
Rick and Scotty stared in astonishment.
“I tried to call you this afternoon,” Rick said. “If 106 you’re really the Assistant Military Attache, that is.”
The man went to his coat and reached into a pocket. Rick, taking no chances, covered him with his own automatic. But the man only took out a card case and handed each of theboys cards. They read, “Major Walter Benson,USA , Assistant Military Attache, Embassy of theUnited States of America ,Berne .”
“Then why did you bug our room?” Scotty demanded.
Benson sighed again. “Sit down, please. Would you care for a drink? They have coke in this hotel.”
“I’ll have a coke, please,” Rick said, and watched as Benson went to the phone and ordered cokes for all three of them. Then he took a seat on the bed again.
“I got intoZurich late this afternoon and called one of my contacts here. He said two strangers had checked in at the Suisse Hotel, Room 308, and that a clerk who is a member of ACTION had immediately notified his headquarters of their arrival. My man didn’t get your names, but since ACTION was interested, I was, too.”
“Then there really is an outfit called ACTION,” Rick said.
“You bet. My man is one of the janitors here. He found out from the housekeeper that 310 was empty, and let me know. So I asked for it when I checked in. Said I’d had it before and liked it. The housekeeper also said the two in 308 has gone out. Well, as the clerk who’s with ACTION was on duty, I could not risk trying to find out who you two were. So, as a precautionary measure, I started to bug your room, working from the balcony. You came in before I had a chance to hide the bug and the wires and I had to skip.Then in you barged. The moment I saw you, I knew you must be Brant and Scott.
That’s it.”
“What qualified you as a professional idiot?” Scotty asked.
“Getting caught in the act of bugging your room.And on top of that, letting myself be taken in by that old gimmick-‘A message for Monsieur’-then get clobbered!” He touched his nose tenderly. “How much more of an idiot can you be!” He was obviously chagrined and very angry with himself.
Rick grinned sympathetically. “It can happen to anyone-and it has happened. Even some of the old pros don’t make all the right moves all of the time, do they?”
The young major brightened at Rick’s kindness. “Well, I’d better start making the right move right now. May I see your passports?”
“We can show you our passports tomorrow,” Rick said. “We turned them in for police registration, of course. Have you any other identification? Anyone can carry a printed card.”
“Sure.” Benson produced his Army I.D. card, complete with photo.“How’s that?”
“Good enough,” Scotty said. “Now, have you any instructions for us?”
Benson shook his head. “The only word I have is to keep an eye out for you and lend a hand if necessary. You’re supposed to be following a Dr. Keller, and your presence here means he must be nearby. Do you need money?”
“No, we have plenty,” Rick answered. “What we need is information.”
“Such as?”
“What is ACTION?”
The young major held up his hand. “Hold it until we get the cokes. I hear the rattle of glassware.”
There was a knock on the door, and he opened it to admit a waiter with glasses, a bucket of ice, and three cokes. When they were all served with drinks, Benson answered the question.
“ACTION is a militant anti-Communist group headed by a committee of ten, composed of refugees from behind the Iron Curtain. Their philosophy is that fire must be fought with fire. They’re extrem
e fanatics. Murder means nothing to them. They would even kill the innocent to get the guilty. If Communism is the extreme left, politically speaking, ACTION is the extreme right. In other words, they’re about equivalent to Nazis or Fascists.”
“Do they have many members?” Scotty asked.
“We don’t know the exact number, but it’s probably close to five or ten thousand throughoutEurope . They also have members still behind the Iron Curtain.”
“How do they operate?” Rick wanted to know.
“Mostly by murder.Their theory is that if the chief Communists are picked off, the rank and file will dissolve. Quite a few unexplained disappearances of Communist leaders have been traced to ACTION.”
Rick didn’t like the sound of it, and said so. He added, “If ACTION is in thepicture, that means Keller is in danger.”
“Very likely,” Benson agreed.
“Can’t we do something about it?” Scotty demanded.
“I don’t know what. Keller hasn’t complained about being held or anything, apparently.
The embassy has no official knowledge of his presence here, and no basis for action. But look, you haven’t told me what you know. First of all, how do you know about ACTION?”
“We’d better start at the beginning,” Rick said, and launched into a concise report of their activities. Benson listened with interest. Scotty elaborated now and then.
When the boys had finished, Benson looked at them in frank admiration. “I can see now why JANIG put you on the job. All right, here’s what I can tell from your story. First of all, the big man you met, who represented ACTION, is undoubtedly one of the leaders, by the name of Anton Zaretsky. He escaped fromBulgaria and became one of the
founders of ACTION. He recognized Kratov, and your description of the man you callFelt Hat fits perfectly.GeorgeiAndreyev Kratov is a Russian. He poses as a member of a Soviet trade mission to the Common Market, but actually he is one of the leading Soviet agents inEurope . He operates relatively openly, and the European intelligence community lets him alone for that reason. They keep an eye on him, and use his contacts to lead them to others.”
“Any ideawho Group X might be?” Rick inquired.
Benson shook his head.“None at all. If we knew why Keller had come here, it might give us a lead. Maybe Zaretsky was right, and he is here to meet with an important Soviet scientist. ACTION has very good sources, and they’re apt to know about such things.”
Scotty asked, “What brought you toZurich ?”
“Some completely unrelated business.I just checked in with my contact routinely, and ended up on the floor.”
Rick grinned sympathetically. The young major was obviously still chagrined. “What do you want us to do now?”
Benson didn’t know. “I’d better go back toBerne and askWashington for instructions.
Do you want to send a message to JANIG?”
“I think we’d better,” Rick said. “Will you make a report?”
“Yes. I can include yours.”
Rick quickly wrote a brief report to Steve Ames, stating that they had trailed Keller to a hideout in the foothills nearZurich and that two additional groups were interested in Keller’s activities, one group identified as ACTION. He ended with a request for further instructions. He showed the message to Scotty, then folded it and handed it to Benson.
“When will you go back toBerne ?”
“Right now.I’ll call you the moment I have any instructions fromWashington .” Benson wrote numbers on a piece of paper. “Here are phone numbers where I can be reached if you need me. The top one is the embassy. The next is my apartment. The third is my secretary’s home phone. You can leave a message there if I’m not at the other two.”
They shook hands all around, and the boys returned to their room. Within a few
minutes, they were in bed. Benson appeared on the balcony long enough to retrieve his microphone, waved at them, and disappeared. Scotty, as an afterthought, got up and locked the windows. “We’ll depend on the air conditioning,” he said. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Rick murmured. He turned over, got his pillow into the proper position, and composed himself for sleep.
Refreshed after a good night’s sleep, the boys were ready for action byeight thirty the next morning. They had discussed plans at breakfast. Somehow, they had to get to the house where Keller had gone, to obtain more information about the American surgeon’s mysterious actions.
A study of the map convinced them that there was only the single road; they knew ACTION was guarding it. But there might be another way-if they could find it.
Scotty drove, and led any would-be pursuer a winding trail throughZurich . When he was sure that anyone who might be on their tail was lost, he turned in the direction of the airport while Rick navigated by street signs and the map.
TheZurich airport was in a valley so long and wide it was more like a plain. The airport building was modern and attractive, but it held no interest for them. They wanted a private flying service. Finally they found one, in a hangar next to the long row of commercial aircraft facilities.
Scotty parked and the boys walked onto the concrete apron. There were planes in sight from all over the world. Naturally, Swiss Air with its distinctive white cross on a red field-the reverse of the famous Red Cross flag-dominated. Rick remembered from somewhere that the Red Cross flag was taken from the Swiss flag, and the colors reversed.
There were also planes carrying the markings ofEngland ,France ,Italy ,Spain ,Israel , theUnited Arab Republic ,Czechoslovakia ,Hungary ,Germany , theUnited States
,Brazil ,Argentina ,Nigeria ,Greece ,Eire , andHolland . Scotty pointed to a huge turboprop marked with Cyrillic letters, and carrying the emblem of Aeroflot, the official Soviet airline. It was a reminder that they were on neutral territory.
In a small office in the hangar they found one of the owners of the private flying service. He shook his head when they asked about renting a plane.
“Nein. It is against the law. You may enterSwitzerland in a private plane, but we cannot rent one to you here.”
Crestfallen, Rick looked at Scotty. Their plan had been to rent a plane and take a look at Keller’s hideout from the air.
“Can you take us for a sightseeing trip?” Scotty asked.
“ Ja . That I can do. We are a charter service also. Where do you wish to go?”
“We thought a look at the foothills of theAlps would be interesting,” Rick said. He put his road map out on the table. “Yesterday we drove around here, and thought it would be fun to see the area from the air.”
“ Ja . It looks so different. When do you wish to go?”
“Now,” Scotty said.
“ Ja . Wait, please.”
The operator summoned a pilot and conversed with him briefly, and in a moment a light plane was rolled out of the hangar to the concrete ramp. The boys inspected it with interest. It was of French make, and it looked clean and fast. It could carry four, including the pilot.
Rick compared it with his own Sky Wagon, of course, and found that it did not suffer by comparison. Since he had a camera with him, a 35-millimeter with an excellent lens, the boys agreed that he should ride alongside the pilot.
The pilot was introduced as Mr.Desales . He shook hands, consulted Rick’s map, and nodded. “I know the area. It is-what is the word-scenery?”
“Scenic,” Scotty offered.
“Is so.We go now?”
Within a few moments they were buckled in and rolling to take-off position. They had to get in line behind Scandinavian, BOAC, and KLM jets. One by one the bigger planes roared down the runway and were gone; then there was a wait while anAlitalia jet swooped in for a landing. Finally they rolled down the runway and took off.
Rick grinned at Scotty. The runway below was for the biggest jets. Their little plane was already a thousand feet up, and still over the runway. Then the pilot banked to a new course, and they concentrated on the scenery below.
T
he pilot flew out ofZurich toward the area they wanted, and in a short time, they picked up a road below. Comparison with landmarks told Rick it was the one they had traveled yesterday. He kept his eyes open, and soon picked up the turn Keller had taken.
The road ran along a gradually ascending shelf that projected from a razorback ridge. At its highest point, the shelf was about a third of the way up the mountain. Rick saw the spot where the paved road ended, and the dirt road leading to the gate. Then, among the trees at the shelf’s end, he saw a Swiss chalet, looking like something out of a travel guide. That was Keller’s hideaway.
He turned to the pilot. “Can we come back this way? I want to take a picture of that chalet.”
“Certainly.”
They flew on, over terrain that gradually increased in ruggedness, over razorback ridges to which snow clung, and over lakes like jewels among settings of pine and birch. It was breathtaking scenery.
After an hour of swooping among peaks and over hidden valleys, the pilot turned on the homeward course. “Be ready,” he suggested.
Rick was. The moment the chalet came into view he started snapping pictures. The pilot obligingly turned in close to the cliff, and only a few hundred feet above it. Rick shot pictures as fast as he could throw the film advance lever.
There was a car hidden among the trees back from the viewing area at the end of the pavement. Rick suspected it was AntonZarestky , of ACTION, keeping an eye on the comings and goings of visitors to the chalet.
“Get some good ones?” Scotty asked over Rick’s shoulder.
Rick turned. “Pretty picturesque place, don’t you think? I got a few that should turn out well.”
An hour later the film was in the hands of a processor. The boys sat in a nearby cafe and drank coffee and ate Swiss pastries until they were near to bursting. Rick kept an eye on his watch. The man had promised blowups of the clearest photos in an hour if they would accept wet prints. They had assured him that they wanted the pictures as soon as possible, wet or dry.
The photographer was as good as his word. The boys paid him, adding a substantial tip
for the speedy service, then hurried to the hotel with the still-damp pictures. While Scotty took the precaution of checking the room for bugs-in case someone else had decided to wire the place-Rick spread the photos on a towel on the bed.
