Ник Картер - Assassin - Code Name Vulture

Erika opened a shoulder purse and removed a small snub-nosed Belgian revolver, a .25 caliber. It was a beautiful little gun with a pearl handle and fancy engraving. I knew she could shoot it from my past association with her. She checked its cylinder and replaced it in her purse.

“Everything will go all right,” she said.

Zach was eager to go. “We will handle them,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed. I wished I were all that sure.

We drove the last fifty yards to the gate slowly. The man on duty there was already watching our approach. He was dressed in khakis like us, with a folding, automatic rifle slung on his shoulder. He took it off and readied it for action as he watched us come.

“If we don’t get past this fellow, the ball game is over,” I said to them. “So play it cool.” Erika nodded.

“Yes,” Zach added. He had his lightweight bush jacket back on, as I did, to hide his weapons. Mine were the usual, but Zach had an assortment that was incredible. In addition to the .38 revolver, he carried a small Sterling .380 PPL automatic in his pocket and had also secreted a throwing knife and garrote on his person. He was a walking arsenal. I hoped it kept him alive.

We stopped just ten feet from the guard. I was behind the wheel, so I spoke to him loudly and forcefully in English. “Hello, there!”

The guard came over near my window. He was a mean-looking young man with a heavy scar across his left jaw. He didn’t return my smile.

“What is it you want here?” he demanded, looking into the car suspiciously. “You are trespassing on private property.”

“Hey, really!” I said. “Don’t use that on us. We’re friends of Adrian Stavros.”

He studied my face carefully. “I have not seen you before. Who are you?”

I gave him our made-up names. “We’re from Rio” I said casually. “The Brazilian League.” The League was an underworld group in Rio that rivaled Stavros with its smuggling activities. AXE had reason to believe that Stavros had tried to consolidate them into his group recently, with Stavros heading the whole thing.

“If you’re from the League, what are you doing here?” the guard asked.

“Stavros invited us,” I said. “And you’re making me very impatient I’ll mention that to Stavros.”

He gave me a look. “Stavros is not here at the plantation. He is on a business trip.”

“He said he might be. He told us to see Heinz Gruber.”

My knowledge of Stavros’ lieutenant’s name impressed the man. He rubbed a hand across his chin thoughtfully. “All right, wait here.”

He returned to the gate while we watched his every move. Under a small canopy, he picked up what looked like an army surplus walkie-talkie from a wooden table. He spoke into it for a couple of minutes, listened, and then put it back down and returned to the car.

“You may enter. Drive to the area just in front of the house and park. You will be met outside.”

“Very well,” I said.

The guard opened the wire gate. I took a long look at the gun under his arm. That might have to be reckoned with yet. He waved me through the gate, and I put the car in gear.

“Here we go,” I said to Erika and Zach.

We drove through the gate, and it was closed behind us. Zach grinned as he watched the gate being locked. I drove along a dirt drive to the compound. It was quite a place, all archways, red tiles, and bougainvillea. I pulled to a stop in front of the sprawling adobe house, and we got out of the car just as four men came out. We put the car between us and the guard at the gate.

The men who confronted us were a rough-looking lot. Three of them, the ones who emerged first, wore khakis and each wore a gun openly on his hip. One was a stocky, dark-complexioned man who appeared to be Brazilian. The second was a tall, thin fellow with a young John Carradine look, and the third looked like an American hippy with long hair and a beard. I didn’t like his face. The fourth man was dressed in an open white shirt and tailored trousers. He was a tall, well-built man with graying hair and a square, hard face. He had to be the ex-Nazi, Gruber.

The three underlings fanned out, so they pretty well flanked us. I was glad we had placed the car between ourselves and the guard at the gate who was about thirty yards away.

“Herr Gruber?” I motioned my head to the white-shirted man.

“That is correct,” he answered haughtily in a thick accent. He wore a Luger like mine in a belt holster. “And what is this about seeing Adrian Stavros?”

Zach and the longhair were sizing each other up. The stocky Stavros man appeared to be itching to draw the gun on his hip, and the tall, slim fellow couldn’t take his eyes off Erika.

“He invited us here,” I answered casually. “We offered him a load of uncut heroin. A couple of our dealers are in trouble and can’t handle it. Surely he mentioned it to you?”

Gruber studied me for a moment. “No,” he said. “You are an American. I did not know there were any Americans working for the League.”

“You live and learn,” I said.

“And what are you?” he asked Erika.

“A Jew,” she said flatly.

His eyes narrowed on her, and he grinned harshly. “Very interesting,” he remarked, looking from Erika to Zach. “Well, perhaps we might deal. We will get out of the sun, ja?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. I hoped somehow to separate Gruber from the others once we were inside.

But that was not the way it was to be. Suddenly a fifth man emerged from the house; our eyes met, and we recognized each other immediately. It was Ubeda from the Apex Imports office.

“What is going on here?” he asked Gruber. “That is the man who came snooping around in town. I sent a man after him who did not come back.”

Gruber’s eyes narrowed on me as the longhaired fellow cautiously drew his revolver. “Ach, so,” Gruber said to himself. His eyes flicked from my face to the tense ones of Erika and Zach, then back to mine. “Who are you really?”

I looked from Ubeda to Gruber. The other gunmen hadn’t drawn their weapons yet. “I’m who I said I was. So are we all. Now, do you want to deal or not?”

“Why did he come to Apex posing as a legitimate importer?” Ubeda asked. “Does he still say he wants Japanese cameras?”

“No,” Gruber said slowly. “Not exactly. You may come inside, Mr.—”

“Johnson,” I said.

“Mr. Johnson. But we must check first to see whether you are armed.”

From the corner of my eye I could see the hard look Zach shot at me. He wasn’t about to let these men disarm him, and I was of the same inclination. If they succeeded in doing so, none of us would probably ever leave the place alive. I gave Zach a glance that I hoped told him I was with him.

“All right, Herr Gruber,” I said. I started to reach for Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger.

“Ahh!” Gruber said, stopping me. “I will take it, Mr. Johnson.”

That was the way I had hoped he would do it. Just as he reached into my jacket, I grabbed him and twisted him around in a tight grip under his chin. Longhair aimed at my head, and Zach drew his .38. Longhair shifted his aim from me to Zach and fired just as Zach dropped into a crouch; the slug zinged off the BMW behind us. Zach’s gun answered in a staccato roar and hit Longhair full in the chest, driving him back against a stucco column that supported an archway at the entrance of the building. He gaped widely for a brief moment and died before he hit the ground.

Then a lot of things happened simultaneously or in rapid succession. I yelled at Zach to hold his fire, but it was too late. He had set everything into violent motion. The stocky man and the tall one went for their guns, as did Erika. Ubeda turned and started running for the house, and Zach fired, hitting him in the spine. Ubeda yelled and fell on his face in the dust.