Ник Картер - Assault on England

I had not seen Heather since before the noon recess when we met at a cafeteria and had a sandwich together. Brutus had given us free reign on this security assignment, letting us move around as we liked and do what we thought was most important at the moment. Heather had spent much of the morning in the conference room while I patrolled the corridors of the building. I had resumed that activity now and she had accompanied the conference members to a luncheon served in another part of the building.

If Jupiter had been telling the truth about catching “other fish” in his fourth assassination attempt, all kinds of possibilities opened up regarding the method he might use. A tommy gun, for instance, or a small bomb or a grenade or poison gas.

The air conditioning system had been checked out by experts several times but I’d checked it myself again during the morning session. Teams of bomb and demolition experts had gone over the conference room before the morning session and during a mid-morning break and found nothing. The security men were beginning to relax and joke about the whole business.

I wasn’t laughing; they didn’t know Jupiter. Our failure to find anything so far probably only meant we hadn’t looked in the right place — and Jupiter was likely to have the last laugh.

I came to the big doors of the conference room and was stopped by two MI5 men and a policeman.

“SOE,” I said, showing them my I.D.

They checked the card with extreme care and finally let me pass. I moved into the room and looked around. Everything appeared normal. There was a spotter over at a window, watching nearby rooftops, a policeman with a pair of powerful binoculars. I went over to him and leaned on the sill of the open window as a security helicopter fluttered by overhead.

“May I have a look?” I asked the bobby.

“Don’t mind if you do,” he said, handing the glasses to me.

I studied the nearest rooftops. They were crawling with security people so there seemed little point in watching them. I refocused the glasses for infinity and scanned the further horizon. I focused on a broad roof with several rises of superstructure and saw movement there. A dark-haired man was walking about, probably a policeman. Yes, I could make out the uniform now.

I sighed and handed the glasses back. “Thanks,” I said.

I moved back out into the corridor. The ministers were returning from the luncheon, straggling down the hall. The afternoon session, which was getting a late start, would soon be in progress.

I left the area and moved up to the roof, stopping to show my I.D. several times. Security certainly seemed tight, but remembering how easily Jupiter had gained access to the Foreign Minister’s office, I wasn’t reassured.

I met Heather on the roof. She was carrying a walkie-talkie with which she could communicate with the temporary SOE command post.

“Hello, Nick.” She smiled at me. “Is everything quiet downstairs?”

“So far.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “I wish I could figure him out, Heather. He’s giving me an inferiority complex. If he’s around today, he’s...”

I stopped and stared at a man who was moving past us. He wore a white serving jacket and was carrying a plate of sandwiches. He was tall with dark hair and built like Jupiter. I grabbed his arm and reached for Wilhelmina.

The man turned, fear in his face when he saw the gun. The hair was real, he had a hooked nose and he was obviously genuine.

“Eh, what’s this, gov’nor?” he said.

“Nothing,” I said, embarrassed. “Sorry. Go ahead — it was a mistake.”

He muttered something and hurried on. A couple of agents nearby who’d witnessed the scene grinned.

“I must be getting jumpy,” I told Heather, wryly. “Although you’ve got to admit a waiter would be a good disguise and, after all, Jupiter did crash the Foreign Secretary’s offices as a janitor. Still, this poor guy doesn’t look like him at all. Except for the dark hair and the serving jacket—”

I stopped: the jacket... a uniform... dark hair...

I turned and looked out over the city toward the buildings to the west. I moved quickly to a spotter busy watching other policemen on the next roof through his binoculars.

“Let me borrow those a moment,” I said, raising my voice to be heard above the flutter of another passing helicopter.

“All right. But you could ask a bit nicer,” he said.

I didn’t answer him. I took the binoculars and refocused them on the distant building with all the superstructures I had noticed from the conference room. I had more of a vantage point here; I could see the rooftop quite clearly. There was no movement there now. I was looking slightly down on the roof and now I noticed something set up there. As I readjusted the glasses, my mouth went dry. I was looking at what appeared to be a weapon of some kind, perhaps a mortar, and it was aimed at me.

Then I saw movement again. It was the man in the policeman’s uniform but this time I noticed the dark hair and the mustache and the tall, square build. It was Jupiter.

The foreign ministers’ meeting was back in session downstairs, and that damned weapon was aimed right at the windows of the conference room! Of course. Jupiter had no intention of trying to gain entrance to the Ministry building this time. He was going to make use of his excellent military training to strike from a distance.

I handed the glasses back to the spotter roughly. “Thanks,” I said. I hurried over to Heather. “Get an identification of that building,” I said, pointing. “Call Brutus and tell him that Jupiter is on the roof with a medium-distance weapon. Then go to the conference room and try to convince somebody to break it up. Another thing: Radio a helicopter to stand by in case Jupiter gets away. I’m going after him.”

It was a hectic race on foot to the other building several blocks away. The sidewalks were jammed with pedestrians and I kept running into people. A cab almost knocked me down as I crossed a side street. At last I was there. The building turned out to be a hotel.

I waited an interminable time for an elevator and took it to the top floor. Then I raced to the stairs leading to the roof. I came out not twenty yards from Jupiter.

He was bending over his weapon, getting ready to fire it. Three wicked-looking rockets lay beside it. A rocket mortar. With three shells Jupiter couldn’t help hitting the conference room. One properly aimed shell would destroy the room and everyone in it.

“Hold it!” I yelled, drawing Wilhelmina.

He whirled toward me. “You again!” he snarled. He pulled a Browning Parabellum automatic out of his belt and ducked behind the mortar. I flattened myself against the wall behind me as Jupiter fired. The slug chipped cement beside my head, showering me with a fine gray powder. I returned fire with the Luger and the slug clanged off the barrel of the mortar.

There was another service superstructure close to Jupiter. He pulled off another shot at me, missing widely, and raced for cover. I fired as he ran but missed, chipping the roof at his feet.

“It’s all over, Jupiter,” I yelled. “Give it up.”

Jupiter leaned out from behind his cover and fired. This time the slug nicked my left arm, tearing a hole in my jacket. I grabbed the arm and swore.

Jupiter was back behind cover now. I started to circle, away from his line of vision. Moving carefully, I rounded the superstructure and there was Jupiter, not fifteen feet away.

Unfortunately, my foot scraped some gravel on the roof, and Jupiter heard me. He whirled and fired automatically, and I ducked back. I heard him running then and when I looked out around the corner, I saw him making for the mortar. He reached it, stuck his gun in his belt and picked up a rocket. The weapon was obviously already aimed.