Nick Carter - Hood of Death

"Hey!" A voice behind him shouted. Feet thundered in the companion way.

Blam! A pistol roared and he was sure he heard the whir-r-r of the bullet as he went headfirst into the water. He dropped the pin and returned Wilhelmina to its holster and swam deep and out, toward the launch. He heard and felt the blasts and liquid kerchungs as slugs peppered the sea above him. He felt strangely safe and protected as he swam deep and then eased upward, searching for the bottom of the small boat.

He missed it, estimated that he was fifty feet out and surfaced as lightly as a frog peeping out of a pond. Outlined against the schooner's lights three men stood on the stern searching the water. He identified Geist by his giant size. The sailor in the launch was standing up, looking toward the larger craft. Then he swiveled, peering into the night, and his gaze stopped on Nick. He reached toward his waist. Nick realized he couldn't reach the boat before the man would be able to drill him four times. Wilhelmina came up, leveled — and the sailor went backward at the sound of its blast. The Tommy gun chattered wildly. Nick ducked under and put the launch between himself and the men on the schooner.

He swam to the launch — and looked sudden death right in the face. Pong Pong thrust a small automatic almost into his teeth as he grabbed the gunwale to pull himself up. She was muttering and pulling wildly on the gun with both hands. He grabbed for the weapon, missed and fell back. He was looking right into her lovely, angry face.

I've had it, he thought, she'll find the safety in an instant or she must know enough to cock it if the chamber is empty.

The Tommy gun rattled. Pong-Pong froze and then toppled forward onto Nick, striking him a glancing blow as she fell into the water. Hans Geist roared, "Stop that!" Followed by a stream of German oaths.

The night was suddenly very still.

Nick slid down in the water, keeping the launch between himself and the schooner. Hans called, a worried, almost plaintive appeal, "Pong-Pong?"

Silence. "Pong-Pong!"

Nick swam to the bow of the launch, reached up and got hold of a line. He secured the line around his waist and slowly began to tow the launch, stroking with all his great power against its dead weight. It swung slowly stern on to the schooner and followed him like a waterlogged snail.

"He's towing the launch," Hans yelled. "There…"

Nick surface dived as the spray gun chattered, came back up carefully, concealed by the launch. The gun rattled again, chewing at the stern of the small boat, flecking the water on both sides of Nick.

He towed the launch away into the night. Climbed in and started his beeper beacon — in hope — and after five minutes' swift work got the engine started.

The launch was slow, built for heavy work and rough seas, not speed. Nick plugged the five holes he could reach and bailed occasionally when water rose in her. A clear and brilliant dawn arose as he rounded the headland into the Patapsco River. Hawk, piloting a Bell helicopter, reached him as he headed in to a marina at Riviera Beach. They exchanged waves. Forty minutes later he had given the launch into the care of a surprised attendant and joined Hawk who had landed in the deserted parking lot. Hawk said, "It's a marvelous morning for a boat ride."

"All right, I'll ask," Nick said. "How did you find me?"

"Did you use Stuart's latest beeper? The signal was excellent."

"Yes. The thing is effective. Especially across water I suppose. But you don't go flying around every morning."

Hawk took out two of his strong cigars, gave one to Nick. "Once in awhile you meet a very smart citizen. You met one. Named Boyd. Ex-Navy Warrant Officer. He called Navy. Navy called F.B.I. They called me. I phoned Boyd and he described Jerry Deming, the oil man who wanted dock space. I thought I ought to buzz around in case you wanted to see me."

"And Boyd mentioned the mysterious cruiser that sails from the Chu Dai Marina, eh?"

"Well, yes," Hawk admitted cheerfully. "I couldn't see you missing a chance to sail in her."

"It was some voyage. They'll be cleaning up the wreckage for a long time. We went out…"

He described the events in exact detail Hawk refueled at Mountain Road Airport and they soared through the bright morning toward AXE's hangars above Annapolis. When Nick finished talking Hawk asked, "Any ideas, Nicholas?"

"Ill try one. The Chicoms want more oil. Top quality and now. They can buy all they want usually, but that's not like having Saudico or one of the others ready to load them as fast as they send tankers. Maybe that thin Chinese is a key. Say he set up a Washington organization using men like Judas and Geist who are experts at ruthless pressure. They've got the girls for information agents and to reward men who go for it. Once the news of the hood of death gets around, a man hasn't much choice. Fun and games or a quick death, and they aren't fooling."

"You are on target, Nick. Adam Read of Saudico has been told to load Chinese tankers at the Gulf or else."

"We have enough weight there to stop that."

"Yes, although some of the Arabs are acting rebellious. However we call the turns there. But that doesn't help Adam Read when he is told to sell or die."

"He's impressed?"

"He's impressed. They explained carefully. He knows about Tyson and although he's no coward you can't blame him for getting the wind up about an outfit that kills almost as an example."

"Have we got enough to close in?"

"Where is Judas? And Chick Soong and Geist? They will tell him that even if the men we know vanish others will get him."

"Orders?" Nick asked softly.

Hawk talked precisely for about five minutes.

An AXE chauffeur dropped Jerry Deming, clothed in borrowed mechanic's overalls, near his apartment at eleven. He wrote notes to three girls — and then there were four. And another — and then there were three. He dispatched the first set by special delivery and mailed the second group regular mail. Bill Rohde and Barney Manoon were to pick up any two of the girls except Ruth, during the day and evening, depending on opportunity.

Nick turned in and slept for eight hours. The telephone awakened him at dusk. He put on the scrambler. Hawk said, "We have Suzi and Anne. I hope they had a chance to worry each other."

"Sonya last?"

"We haven't had a chance at her but she's watched. Well get her tomorrow. But no sign of Geist or Soong or Judas. The schooner is back at a bay dock. Ostensibly belongs to a Taiwanese. British citizen. Leaving for Europe next week."

"Continue as ordered?"

"Yes. Good luck."

Nick wrote one more note — and then there was one. He mailed it to Ruth Moto.

Just before noon the next day he called her, reaching her after being transferred to Akito's office. She sounded tense as she refused his cheery invitation to lunch. "I'm — terribly busy, Jerry. Please call me again."

"It's not all pleasure," he said, "although you're the girl in Washington I'd most like to have lunch with. I've decided to chuck my job. There must be a way to make money faster and easier. Your Dad still interested?"

There was a pause. She said, "Please wait" When she came back on the phone she still sounded worried, almost scared. "He wants to see you. In a day or two."

"Well — I've got a couple of other angles, Ruth. Don't forget, I know where to get oil. And how to buy it Without limit I had the feeling he might be interested."

A long pause. At last she came back. "In that case — can you meet us for cocktails about five?"

"I'm looking for a job, honey. Ill meet you any time, anywhere."

"At Remarco's. Know it?"

"Sure. I'll be there."

When Nick, debonair in Italian-tailored gray sharkskin and Guards' tie, met Ruth at Remarco's she was alone. Vinci, the rugged partner who acts as greeter, took him to her in one of the many small alcoves of the discreet, popular rendezvous. She looked worried.