Nick Carter: Assassination Brigade

When we reached the hotel, Hawk dropped me off and continued on to the American Embassy where he would be staying while in Paris.

When I reached my suite, I was surprised to find a note from Elsa. It said that she had been invited to a party in Montmartre and that she was going ahead. She left the address for me so that I could join her if I liked. I decided, instead, to have a couple of chilled martinis and a good dinner in my room. Before I went to bed, I phoned the desk to have a copy of the London Times delivered to me early the next morning.

Elsa still hadn’t returned to the hotel by the time I received my copy of the newspaper early the next day, and I couldn’t tell if there was anything significant in her overnight absence. The ad was there in the Times , though, worded exactly as the ransom note had instructed. As I read it, I imagined a pleased “Alexander” reading it too. He could be in Paris, or in London, or in Monte Carlo, or, for that matter, in Tibet.

I was anxious to get to the AXE office, which, I knew, would be the first place to know if further instructions were received. I was dressed and leaving the suite when Elsa returned.

She was still in an evening gown, with a mink coat slung over her shoulders. She looked drowsy, but she smiled and kissed me, letting the coat fall to the floor. Then she turned for me to unzip the back of her gown.

“I missed you at the party, Dumplink,” she said. “It was great fun. Lots of Frenchmen. The party’s still going on, if you want to go.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I have some business to attend to. You sleep, and I’ll phone you later.”

“Business, business, business,” she said, patting my face. “Remember, all work and no play makes Tony a dull boy.” She stepped out of her gown and crossed over to the connecting door to her suite, looking very desirable in her sheer bra and pantyhose. She paused briefly in the doorway and beckoned to me with her finger. When I shook my head, she blew me a kiss and disappeared.

As soon as I reached the cafe on Place St. Michel and went upstairs to the AXE office, I could feel the tension and gloom that permeated the whole place. Outside the sun was shining and there was a false spring in die air, but whatever cheer the weather contained vanished at the walls of the building.

Hawk was there, looking more haggard than he had looked the night before, and so were the four Chinese, along with several dozen AXE agents and security men. All of us had arrived too early, and our impatience grew as the long hours dragged by. It wasn’t until noon that we finally received the message we had been waiting for. And, of course, it came in a roundabout way.

We received a phone call from Interpol’s Paris office, saying that they had received a package from a messenger for their local chief. When he had opened the package, he had found a sealed box and a typewritten note, which said that the box should be delivered to the Chinese Embassy at once. Since the chief of Interpol had been informed of the crisis, he had immediately called Hawk and had then sped to the AXE office. Meanwhile Interpol agents had picked lip the messenger, who was authentic, and when they had questioned him about the man who had given him the package for delivery, he had given a description that could have fit ten thousand Frenchmen.

The box contained a recording tape. We crowded around while Hawk threaded the tape into an office machine. As the tape rolled, a voice said, “This is Alexander. I have received your message and now give you the following instructions. Late this afternoon, the thirtieth, a ship flying a white flag with a red dragon imprinted on it will appear in the Adriatic Sea and enter the harbor at Split, Yugoslavia. This ship will have the Chinese nuclear missile on its deck. One of your vessels may approach it with the two million dollars. Once the money has been placed in the hands of the men aboard, the missile will be returned. If any attempt is made to recover the missile without paying the money, it will be exploded.”

The words on the tape told us nothing of the person who had spoken them — or, rather, persons, for every other sentence had been spoken by a different voice, and their accents had ranged from British to German to Brooklyn. The brains behind the plot had remained invisible.

After the tape had been transcribed and copies had been made, hurried phone calls were placed to secure a plane to fly us to the Adriatic coast and to have a large, fast ship waiting for us near Split, Yugoslavia. Even while these arrangements were being made, Hawk was busy making plans for die time when the missile had been recovered.

Not much later, Hawk, the Chinese representatives with ransom money, several AXE agents, and I drove to Orly and flew by jet to die Adriatic. The Yugoslavian Government had been contacted through diplomatic channels and had a sleek, swift ship waiting for us when we arrived.

There was a cold, bitter wind blowing off the sea as we approached the harbor and dropped anchor near the shore at Split. No other vessels were in sight. As we paced the deck, Hawk began to mutter, “I hope this isn’t a trick, Nick.”

After another couple of hours had passed and the day had started to fade into twilight, I was beginning to think that Hawk might have been right. But then, quite suddenly, a large white ship appeared at the mouth to the harbor, and it was flying a white flag with a red dragon emblazoned on it. It dropped anchor off the starboard bow of our vessel, and a man in a captain’s uniform stepped to the rail, raised a bullhorn, and shouted, “Ahoy, I bring you greetings from Alexander. Do you have die money?”

Hawk handed me a similar bullhorn. “It’s your show,” he said.

“We have die money,” I replied through the bullhorn. “We are ready to complete the transaction.”

“You may come aboard,” the captain shouted back.

A couple of the crewmen aboard our ship lowered a small motorboat over the side. Two of the Chinese, one of them carrying the satchel with the money, and I crossed to the other ship. We were assisted to the deck by the captain and several of his crew. There was a huge object covered by lashed-down canvas on the forward deck. It must have been the missile, but I was still wary. Several other men were on deck, but the only one I recognized was Tregor, the Belgian.

The captain was cordial, and he led us to a large stateroom on the main deck where chilled champagne was waiting.

“You have the money?” he asked.

I nodded to the Chinese, who handed over the satchel.

“You have no objection to letting us count it before we turn the missile over to you, do you?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Please, gentlemen, do have some champagne while you’re waiting,” the captain offered as he left the room with the money.

Neither of the Chinese would accept a glass of champagne from die steward, but I did. It was good vintage wine and perfectly chilled. I had two glasses while the Chinese fidgeted uncomfortably in their chairs. When the captain returned he was smiling and nodding his head.

“Very good, gentlemen,” he said. “All seems to be in order. If you’ll accompany me to the deck, we can conclude our business.”

I wasn’t greatly surprised when we were topside again to see that the crewmen had removed the canvas from the object on the forward deck. It was a nuclear missile already fitted into a hoist.

The two Chinese checked die missile suspiciously before they were satisfied that all was in good order. They nodded to me gravely, and I nodded to the captain.

He seemed pleased as he picked up the bullhorn again and called to the waiting Yugoslavian ship, telling it to come in close so that the missile could be lowered to its decks. The two Chinese and I remained aboard while the crew worked the hoist, swinging the giant missile up into the air and then down to the deck of our ship where we had already prepared a cradle to hold it. I could see the expression of relief on Hawk’s face when he saw the missile standing on the deck, safely aboard at last.