Smart Bombs

by Len Levinson

  Issuing classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!

  Butler had taken on some tough missions during his spy career, but his new assignment made the others look easy.

  He had to penetrate the Soviet Union to steal super-secret plans for an anti-missile system.

  But Butler had a weakness for beautiful Russian women. If he could figure out which ones worked for the KGB, he might get out of Russia alive!

  SMART BOMBS

  BUTLER 2:

  By Len Levinson writing as Philip Kirk

  First Published by Leisure Books in 1979

  Copyright © 1979, 2014 by Len Levinson

  Published by Piccadilly Publishing at Smashwords: July 2014

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.

  Cover image © 2014 by Tony Masero

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Mike Stotter

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. We must never let the weight of the combination endanger our liberties or democratic process.

  Dwight D. Eisenhower

  January 17, 1961

  Chapter One

  A submarine surfaced through the black water of the Baltic Sea. It was a foggy night in November and a breeze whistled through the antennae of the submarine’s conning tower. Hatches were opened in the conning tower, foredeck, and afterdeck. Men in black suits poured out of the hatches and took positions at the guns on deck. One group of men pulled a black rubber boat across the glistening wet deck.

  Behind the boat walked Butler, a tall broad-shouldered man in a black turtleneck sweater and black stocking cap on his head. He carried a Colt .45 in a shoulder holster and an old British commando knife on his belt. His face was covered with black camouflage paint. He watched grimly as the crew lowered the rubber boat over the sides.

  “Good luck, Butler,” said Captain Sinclair.

  “Thanks.” Butler turned and a sailor handed him the rope. Butler held onto it with both hands and went over the side of the submarine, like a mountain climber descending. He let go of the rope when his feet hit the rubber boat, then he quickly cast away the other lines. Kneeling in the boat, he grasped the oars and pushed himself toward shore.

  He could hear sailors running along the deck of the submarine, and then he heard the hatches being closed. The submarine glided away from him, and he turned in time to see it angle into the sea. It disappeared quickly, and Butler was alone on the Baltic.

  He looked at his watch; it was one o’clock in the morning. The shore was due south and he checked his compass to make certain he was headed in that direction. He pushed the oars with firm, strong strokes, hoping that nothing would go wrong.

  He was headed for a stretch of shore east of the city of Tallinn, on the Estonia Coast of the USSR. A top Soviet scientist was defecting, and Butler was going to pick him up. The scientist had been furnishing information to Butler’s organization for ten years, but now the jaws of the KGB were closing on him and he had to flee. Butler, the ex-CIA troubleshooter, was given the hazardous mission.

  Butler’s organization was called the Bancroft Research Institute, whose overt purpose was to conduct scientific research for businesses and governments throughout the world, and whose covert function was to maintain peace by doing everything possible to keep the hawks of various countries from going to war against each other.

  Butler rowed toward the shore he couldn’t see, riding over the huge swells and listening for trouble. The Soviets patrolled their coastlines well, because they didn’t want anyone to enter or leave without authorization. A foggy, moonless night had been chosen because of the cover it afforded.

  He estimated that he was around five hundred yards from shore. Bringing in the oars, he knelt in the rubber boat and took his Electronic Direction Finder (EDF) from its rubber case. He clicked the switch on and was about to press the button when he heard the faint rumble of a motor craft.

  Clutching the EDF to his belly, he dived to the bottom of the rubber boat and lay motionless. The sound of the motor grew louder; it was doubtless a Soviet patrol craft. These waters were said to be swarming with them, and Butler had been warned that he could expect to encounter at least one.

  Butler lay in the bottom of the rubber boat that was tossed about by the waves. He, the boat, and everything on it was covered with dull black paint that blended with the night. Even if a searchlight was trained on him, it wouldn’t see anything, unless it was very close. Butler hoped that patrol boat wouldn’t get too close. The odds were that it wouldn’t, but Butler knew from bitter experience that the odds could turn against you in a very ugly way.

  The patrol boat motored closer and closer. Butler peeked over the side of the rubber boat and saw a searchlight cutting a golden swath through the fog. His heart froze with the thought that maybe there was a tip-off and they were looking specifically for him. He’d been betrayed before; it wouldn’t be anything new. In the spy game you had to expect it.

  The searchlight beam headed his way and he ducked, staring coolly into the bottom of the boat. Butler was not one to panic; otherwise he would have been dead long ago. Instead, he thought strategically. If they came for him he’d shoot out the searchlight and hope they couldn’t find him again in the tractless, foggy sea. If they did catch him he’d surrender with a smile and say he was a shipwrecked sailor.

  The searchlight beam passed over him and kept going; they didn’t even see him. He breathed more easily. The patrol boat crossed his bow and then the sound of the motors began to recede. It was on a routine tour of the coastline, and eyes on routine tours are never that sharp.

  When the sea was quiet again, Butler raised himself to a kneeling position. He switched on the EDF and pushed the button twice, thus transmitting a signal toward shore. He waited and listened, bouncing on top of the waves, and then he heard three beeps come from his receiver. It was Dr. Kahlovka answering, he hoped. A tiny light flashed on the compass of the EDF, indicating the direction the signal had come from. Butler grabbed the oars again and pushed in the direction indicated by the light.

  Now he had something new to worry about. What if Dr. Kahlovka had been captured, tortured, and made to reveal everything? In that case, there might be a patrol of KGB agents on the beach waiting to see who’d show up. If so, there’d be a large number of them and it’d be senseless to try and fight it out. He’d surrender meekly and try to sell his shipwrecked sailor story. Somehow he didn’t think they’d buy it, and then the fun would begin. But he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. No use worrying needlessly.

  He rowed toward shore, his shoulders not sore at all. He worked out regularly in gymnasiums and could bench-press 260 pounds. And he wasn’t winded, because he jogged like everybody else these days. Butler was a magnificent physical specimen for his thirty-two years, but he knew that nobody was stronger than a bullet.

  He peered into the darkness ahead and could make out nothing at all. The fog was thick as the proverbial pea soup, but he must be nearing shore. Shipping his oars again, he bent over the EDF and pressed the button twice. It immediately beeped three times and the light on the compass told him to steer a few degrees to the west.

&nb
sp; He continued rowing, and then suddenly he was aware of the sound of surf ahead of him. That meant that the beach was only another fifty yards or so away. He squinted and kept rowing, but still could see nothing. Maneuvering adroitly with his oars, he got on top of a wave and rode it like a surfboard toward shore. The wind whistling in his ears, he smiled as he and his rubber boat soared over the top of the water. It reminded him of the surf at Malibu Beach, where he’d once shared a little house with a certain female who played bit roles in Hollywood movies. Someone else probably was sharing her house right now, while he was about to share a beach with person or persons unknown.

  The wave cut away and the rubber boat skidded on top of the wet sand. Butler jumped out agilely and dragged it to shore and up the sandy hill to a spot where the water wouldn’t reach it. Now he had to move fast. He took his flashlight from his belt, pointed it straight ahead into the fog, and hit the button once quickly. He waited anxiously, his heart beating in his chest, and several long seconds later he saw a light flash once in the fog. Gritting his teeth, he took out his Colt .45, slipped off the safety, and got ready for the worst.

  He heard footsteps running across the sand. Cocking his ear, they sounded like only one pair of feet, and that was good news. A dark figure came to him out of the fog. He pointed his Colt .45 at it. The figure dropped to its knees in front of him, and Butler found himself staring into the face of an attractive young woman.

  “They got my father,” she said breathlessly.

  “Oh.” Butler tried to think strategically. The KGB might have got her father, or she might be a KGB agent herself.

  “Are you alone?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m alone.”

  “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you have any weapons with you?”

  “A knife.”

  “Let’s get out of here. Help me push the boat into the water.”

  They got on each side of the boat and dragged it into the crashing waves. When they were up to their knees, Butler told her to get in. She climbed into the rubber boat, and he pushed it out farther until the water was up to his thighs, making his legs numb with cold. Then he climbed into the boat with her.

  “Sit over there,” he said, pointing to the bow.

  She moved to the front of the rubber boat and he kneeled facing her, taking the oars in hand and pushing hard to break out of the surf and into the open sea. They climbed up and down the waves, and he saw her hanging onto the ropes on the gunwales. Finally they were free of the surf, but Butler maintained his steady rowing pace. Her pretty face floated in front of him, filtered through fog and framed by a black kerchief.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Natalia Kahlovka.”

  “When did they pick up your father?”

  “Sometime yesterday—I don’t know for sure. A friend of his at the laboratory called me. I was at the university at the time. I left after my classes and went to the place where he hid this.” She held her EDF in the air. “Then I went to the rendezvous spot. I’ve been waiting for you since sundown.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t pick you up at the same time they picked him up.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You were a loose end. I’m surprised the KGB let you go.”

  Her voice became angry. “You think maybe I am a spy myself?”

  “I don’t know who you are, lady, but if you try anything funny I’ll kill you.”

  In the dense fog he could see emotions working on her face; maybe she was trying to keep from crying. If she really was Kahlovka’s daughter she must have had a hard day and she didn’t need him to harass her, but Butler had learned long ago to expect the worst of any situation.

  The chugging sound of a Soviet patrol craft came to his ears.

  “Get down!” he said to her.

  They ducked into the rubber boat and lay together, bodies touching and faces inches apart. He looked into her eyes; they were green and slanted. Blonde hair showed beneath her kerchief and she had the high cheekbones of a Tartar. They looked at each other impassively, their breath intermingling. The sound of the patrol craft came closer. She bit her lower lip.

  “Not a sound,” he whispered.

  She didn’t reply, but her eyes indicated she didn’t like him very much. He raised his head and looked over her shoulder at the patrol boat heading straight for them, its searchlight slicing through the fog.

  He lowered his head. “It’s going to be close. I’d better cover your face.”

  He put his big blackened hands over her white cheeks so they wouldn’t catch the shine of the searchlight. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her eyes were like those of a frightened rabbit. There still was white showing, so he covered her face with his, cheeks touching, and the patrol boat rumbled closer. It sounded as though it might ram them. He felt her stiffen against him. Her hands grasped his biceps, but he removed them gently and put them against his chest where they wouldn’t show. Then he covered her face with his hands again.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  A sob escaped from her lips.

  “Ssshhh.”

  They lay together, touching as the patrol boat bore down on them. Butler felt her cheeks, torso, and knees against him. He thought it curious that he was having an erotic reaction to the desperate situation. Snuggling closer to her, he kissed her cheek and she took a deep breath. She turned her lips to him and they kissed as the patrol boat closed in on them. The black rubber boat bobbed over the waves, and the girl’s body strained against Butler as they tried to hide in each other.

  The patrol boat moved away from them. They separated and Butler looked over his shoulder at the patrol boat chugging down the coast, its searchlight splaying over the Baltic Sea.

  Butler got to his knees and took the oars in his hands again. Natalia sat in the bow of the boat facing him, studying his face, her hands touching between her knees.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Butler.”

  “Is that your first name or your last name?”

  “Last name.”

  “What is your first name?”

  “I don’t like my first name, so I never use it.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Do you still think I’m some sort of counterspy?”

  “It’s a possibility. It’s also a possibility that I’m a KGB agent on a mission to find out what you know.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “You shouldn’t doubt anything. This is a very tricky world.”

  Her face became sad and she closed her eyes. “I wonder what they’re doing to father.”

  “Don’t think about it. It can’t help him and can only hurt

  Butler’s strong arms pushed the oars again and again. The rubber boat moved farther into the Baltic Sea. He checked his compass to make certain he was going in the correct direction. He wanted to head north toward the general direction of Finland, which was the safest direction to go.

  “We’re awfully far from shore,” she said.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “I hope the boat doesn’t sink.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But I can’t swim, you see.”

  “The boat’s not going to sink.”

  “My father gave me very important information to pass along to your superiors.”

  “What is it?”

  “It is written on papers that I have here.” She tapped her breast.

  “Can’t you tell me?”

  “It’s very scientific and I don’t understand it myself. It has to do with laser beams.”

  “How come you don’t understand it? Aren’t you a scientist too?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not scientific at all. I study English and French Literature at the University of Leningrad. Or I did until yesterday.”

  “It’s about laser beams, you say?”


  “Laser beams and smart bombs.”

  “It must have something to do with new weapons. The new generation of smart bombs is guided by laser beams.”

  “I do not know about those things, I’m afraid. If you ask me about Dostoyevsky’s tragic sense of life I could tell you all about it, but not laser beams and intelligent bombs. Why are they intelligent?”

  “Because they almost never miss. They’re guided to their targets by laser beams aimed by soldiers. As long as the soldier can keep his target in his sights, the smart bomb will hit it. A smart bomb costing one thousand dollars can demolish a tank costing a million and a half dollars, and do it easily.”

  Natalia raised her hand to her mouth. “I think I’m getting ill.”

  “Seasickness?”

  “I think so.”

  “I have some Dramamine pills here.” Butler let go of the oars, reached under his turtleneck sweater, and took out a little black tin box. He opened it and picked out two little pills, which he handed to her. “Take these.”

  “You have some water?”

  He reached into a compartment on the inside wall of the rubber boat and took out a black canteen, which he handed to her. She popped the pills into her mouth, took a drink of water, and handed him the canteen back. He returned it to the compartment and took up the oars again.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Surely you’re not going to row all the way to Finland.”

  “Surely not. That’s more than twenty-five miles from here.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Butler continued rowing, his arms mildly sore now. His face was damp from the thick fog and his legs felt like two pillars of ice. But the mission was almost accomplished. When he figured he was out far enough he took the EDF and pressed a button. A tiny light-emitting diode began to flash.

  “What’s that?” Natalia asked.

  “I’m signaling our position to the submarine.”

  “Oh, a submarine is going to pick us up?”