Nick Carter - The Weapon of Night

For a moment longer he watched it shrinking into the distance. And then, seething with anger, he churned his way across the inlet in his waterlogged clothes and dragged himself, dripping onto the shore.

Nine down, and one to go.

The morning brought with it a gruesome story of an ancient cabin cruiser abandoned on the Canadian side of Lake Erie with two dead men in its tiny cabin. But of the man who must have piloted the vessel there was no sign even through the search for him had started very soon after his escape across the lake.

“But he can’t have gotten far,” said Nick, staring sightlessly at the bluish smoke rings wafting toward the ceiling of his motel room. The AXE “copter was hangared at Buffalo airport nearby and he was ready to use it again at a moment’s notice. Police had cordoned off the lake inlet and radiation experts were working busily in the boathouse where they had found much of West Valley’s missing material. “He wouldn’t want to go far. If he’s got something set up for tonight — the final panic push, in whatever form it may take — he must be planning to do it in this general area. Or why else gather his men at the lake? No, sir. My best bet, as long as you’ve got everything else set up, is to wait right here and be ready to pounce. He’s somewhere in the New York-Ontario region, and I’d stake my life on that.”

“Hope you don’t have to,” Hawk said grimly, chewing savagely at the end of his cigar. “And I hope you’re right. Oh, I have everything set up, all right. Takes time, but by dusk the whole country’ll be ready to swing into action. Hope to God tonight will see the end of this thing. You heard about the radiation riots in Berkeley, in L.A.? Yes — people killing each other in the streets, for God’s sake! I can only pray that the President’s speech will calm things down. Heaven knows it’s true that the worst is over, but will they believe it?”

“They’ve got to,” Nick said harshly. “But if we don’t stop this thing tonight — they won’t.”

Julia sighed luxuriously and stretched out on the bed beside him like a waking kitten. Her tanned fingers stroked the length of his body and her breasts rose and fell voluptuously as if they had just been treated to a delicious experience. Which, indeed, they had.

“Sinful,” she murmured huskily. “Fiddling while Rome burns. Why are we so sinful, Carter?”

“Because we like it,” Nick said cheerfully. He grinned at her and tousled her hair, and then rolled lightly off the bed to land on his feet on the thick carpeting of the motel room. “But sin time’s over for a while, sweetheart.” He flicked a switch and flooded the room with light. “Tune in to AXE H.Q., will you? And find out what’s going on in the world. I’m going to take a shower. My bones tell me we’re going to see some action soon.”

She watched the rippling muscles of his athlete’s body as he padded nakedly into the bathroom, and gave a little sigh as she turned on the AXE radio. His head was still heavily bandaged from the Montreal explosion and now he had a new thick patch of adhesive on his shoulder. Another day, another scar. And each new assignment brought another duel with death. Some day — maybe on this job, maybe on some other — death was bound to win. Those were the odds. And he had been playing this deadly game for far too long already.

So, for that matter, had she.

Julia pulled her flimsy robe slowly about her tawny shoulders and the crackling voices of AXE’s general wave length told her of LSD in a Jersey reservoir and air pollution in Springfield. Here, a radiation scare, there, a little hot box found; somewhere else, an angry citizens’ meeting that degenerated into a riot. All day long the news services had been spreading the word that the situation was under control. But the word was vague and unconvincing… because it was not quite true. There was still one shadowy figure unaccounted for. And still unanswered were the basic questions: Who is doing this to us, and why? To what end? Was this a war of nerves, or a prelude to attack?

She, Julia Baron, knew more about the who and what and why than any woman in the United States, with the possible exception of Valentina Sichikova, and even she, Julia, was uneasy about what she did not know. How much worse, she thought, shivering slightly and pulling the robe more closely around her, not to know anything at all — to be looking out into the night and wondering what unknown menace waited there.

Nick was singing in the shower. She smiled faintly to herself and rose from the bed to gaze through the window. It was dark outside with the darkness of early evening in late fall, but splashed with brightness from a million lights in homes and along the highways. She found herself praying that they would stay lit.

The hissing splash of the shower stopped and only the voices of AXE communicators filled the room. Nick padded in, wrapping a towel around his waist, and squatted on the floor with a soulful look on his face.

“Dear God,” Julia said resignedly. “Breathing exercises at a time like this?”

“Your fault,” he said cheerfully. “You take my breath away.”

He concentrated for long moments and she watched him in silence, admiring the masculine beauty of his body and loving every line of it.

At last he rose and flicked two switches on the AXE radio, one to kill the voices and the other to open the channel through which his own messages were to come.

“Enough of that,” he said, toweling himself briskly. “It’s depressing to listen to, and pointless. Sorry I asked for it.”

“That’s the least of what you’ve asked for, Nick,” she said quietly. “Are you ever going to get out of this business?”

“There’s only one way out of it,” he said shortly, and began to dress.

He glanced at his watch as he strapped it on. “About time for the President’s speech,” he said. “Let us sincerely hope that he can produce both soothing and effective words for “mah fella countrymen.” Too bad we can’t tell the truth about what we already know.”

“Proof,” she said shortly, and snapped on the television set.

“Yeah, proof,” he added bitterly. “Chinese bodies all over the lot, and we still need proof!”

“—live from Washington,” the announcer’s voice boomed loudly. Julia turned the volume down. Then she began to dress in her usual brisk way as the voice from the handsome face on the screen went over the events of the past few days.

“And now — the President of the United States.”

There was a flurry of activity on the rostrum as mikes were adjusted, cameras moved in closer.

Nick and Julia sat side by side upon the bed.

The familiar figure filled the screen and solemnly gazed out upon his audience of millions.

“Mah fella Amurricans,” the well-known voice began, and there was benevolence and confidence in its calm tones, “a great man of our own times and our own country once told us that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. I am here to tell you tonight that we in this great country of ours have nothing to fear, not even fear itself—” The voice abruptly died.

The lips went on moving but now no sound came from them.

“God, what’s happening!” Julia cried, as the light in the room became a weird yellow glow. The image on the screen slowly faded and disappeared, and the yellow glow became pitch-blackness.

Nick was on his feet, grabbing the AXE radio.

“This is it!” he rapped. “Don’t move from here. Let you know if I need you. Look after yourself.”

His lips brushed her cheek in the darkness and the radio beeped at him.