Whatever he was doing, he was making a lot too much progress and a lot too fast!
It was well past midnight where I was. I was just crawling into my otherwise empty bed, pretty exhausted in fact, when there came a knock on the door.
It was Faht Bey. He handed me an envelope and went away.
Groggily, I opened it. I read the first two lines and sat abruptly down. It was the expected report from Raht and Terb:
AGENT UPDATE
We have good news for you.
We are in the hospital.
We did exactly what you said.
Immediately on our arrival in New York, we procured suitable credentials from the forger as UN delegates from Zimbabwe. We obtained suitable costumes. In this suitable guise we proceeded upon our assignment.
We went to the designated target area as ordered.
At the desk we made appointments with two suitable girls and paid the suitable amount, receipts attached.
Proceeding on schedule, we did not go to the assigned rooms but instead, detoured to the top floor.
As per informant advice, the door to the subject’s room was open. There was nobody in the suite.
We entered and proceeded to ransack the place. We went into every cupboard and crevice. Subject certainly has a lot of clothes.
We were just completing the search by restoring what we could when the door to the suite opened.
A high-yellow whore about five foot ten inches tall with silver finger- and toenails, wearing a purple dressing gown, not tied and open in front and wearing nothing else, walked in.
Said high-yellow whore was accompanied by a tan whore about five foot two inches tall with red finger- and toenails of apparent Tahitian racial extraction, wearing a small hand towel and black hair.
Said high-yellow ejaculated, “What the hell are you (bleepards) doing in Pretty Boy’s room?” The voice was not modulated. No recording of it is attached.
Agent Terb, being nearer the door, sought by prescribed and standard means to seize the Tahitian. With a standard riposte and cross-slice with hand edge, said Tahitian broke said Agent Terb’s arm.
Agent Raht, unable to get behind a bar which is positioned to the right of the said suite’s door and which contains Seven Up and nonalcoholic Swiss beer and ice cream, raised a standard #18 cosh which contains three and a quarter pounds of birdshot and brought it down in the prescribed fashion, intending to knock out the high-yellow who was advancing with gown flying wide open.
Said high-yellow’s right foot advanced and connected with said cosh which then flew into bedroom, which has a circular bed big enough, according to professional estimate, to hold six.
Seeking to use a snatch draw, said Agent Raht, bending, directed his hand toward the Colt Cobra which regulations require to be affixed to an agent’s right ankle.
The maneuver, though standard, was interrupted by the left foot of said high-yellow rising in a swirl kick and connecting with the jaw of said Agent Raht, which broke.
Agent Terb, seeking to use his remaining arm on the Tahitian in a standard chop found it misdirected into the tube of the Sylvania 25-inch, by diagonal measurement, television set.
Agent Raht was hit with a bottle of Seven Up in the back of the skull by an unorthodox maneuver executed by the high-yellow.
Lying on the floor, looking up, Agents Terb and Raht saw a young man, about five foot four, dressed in a blue three-piece suit, with black hair, answering to the name of Giuseppe, which may or may not be an a.k.a., standing there holding a Beretta Model 1934 Italian Automatic pistol caliber .380 with its safety catch off.
Said young man told the said high-yellow and said Tahitian to get up off the chests of said Agents Raht and Terb respectively at which said high-yellow made a request as follows: “Let me hit the (bleepard) again, Giuseppe.” A request which was ignored by said Giuseppe who was on the phone. Said high-yellow accordingly struck said Agent Raht in the solar plexus which produced paralysis.
Three and a half minutes later a second young man, five foot three inches tall, black hair, black eyes, wearing a gray suit and carrying an eighteen-inch rubber truncheon, appeared. His name is unknown as he was not addressed by name. The Tahitian requested that any further work done not be done in “Pretty Boy’s” suite.
Accordingly, Agents Raht and Terb were escorted to a room in the basement, about ten feet by twelve feet, furnished by a table and two chairs.
One answering to the name of Vantagio appeared. He is about five foot two, has black hair and black eyes and was dressed in a suit of dark material, expensively cut.
The young man Giuseppe said, “Vantagio . . .” but the rest of it was in Italian. There is no recording attached.
Said Vantagio did then remove said wallets and other ID from the said agents and said in English, “Hold up on that rubber club until I verify.”
Said Vantagio left.
Said Vantagio returned.
Said Vantagio said, “You (bleepards) aren’t from the UN. The secretary-general’s office never heard of you. These are forged.” This remark was addressed to the said Agents Raht and Terb.
Said Vantagio said to the said Giuseppe and the other young man, “Work these (bleepards) over and find out where they really are from.” He left.
Said other young man, utilizing the rubber truncheon in an experienced manner for one hour and fifteen minutes, was, however, unable to extract further information from the said agents.
When consciousness returned, said Agents Raht and Terb found themselves in the back of a delivery van, make and license number not noted. The delivery van was en route somewhere.
As Agent Raht could not talk due to jaw fractures, Agent Terb said to the young man who was riding in the back of the van, “Where are we going?”
Said young man stated, “We are taking you for a ride, you (bleepards). So say your prayers.” He enforced this advice with said Beretta with which he gesticulated.
The van stopped. The roar of other traffic could be heard.
A young man came back from the front of the van.
The two young men picked up some large garbage bags. The bags were made of black plastic. They placed some concrete blocks in the bottom of said black plastic garbage bags. They then inserted Agents Raht and Terb into said black plastic garbage bags.
The back doors of the van were heard to open. Traffic roars were louder. It is agreed by both Agents Raht and Terb that they were thereupon lifted over a rail and dropped.
The fall distance was considerable.
The water impact was excessive.
Utilizing the thin-blade which is required by standard regulations to be carried in the sole of the right shoe, Agent Raht cut through the black plastic garbage bag and shortly surfaced. As there was no sign of Agent Terb, said Agent Raht dived again and located said black plastic garbage bag and cut it off Agent Terb.
Upon surfacing, both agents agreed that the bridge they saw upstream in the darkness was the Queensboro Bridge and, being competent agents, had a knowledge of the local geography. The water in this area is noted for its riptides and no one has ever been known to swim in it.
The East River at this point is divided by a long island known as Roosevelt Island. It once served as a prison without walls because nobody could swim through the riptides and make the seven-hundred-foot crossing to the mainland. It is a historic spot.
The current had carried the said agents just past the southern tip. There is a geyser there which shoots 4,000 gallons of water per minute 400 feet into the air. It is a historic spot.
The wind was carrying the geyser spray over said agents.
A backwater was located and taken advantage of. The shore is covered with barnacles and debris and oil scum.
There used to be two hospitals on Roosevelt Island, one for the chronically ill and the other for the aged. It is a historic spot.
On the southern end of the island there is also the Silverwater Memorial Hospital.
Agent Raht car
ried Agent Terb to said hospital and pleaded being both chronically ill and aged.
They were taken in and given treatment and, as they had money in their shoes, are still there.
We could not write sooner because the hands of both Agents Raht and Terb are ripped to pieces from fishhooks encountered in seeking to search subject’s baggage.
No platen as described was located.
However, there is good news! We have found the interference requested.
Before entering subject’s room, adjacent rooms were accidentally entered. Immediately next door to the subject’s suite there is a room about twenty by thirty feet. This room contains backdrops of the sea and jungle which can be interchanged. The floor of this room is made up of sand and patches of grass.
Said room also contains palm trees which spread out, making alcoves.
The purpose of said room is apparently to simulate the earliest conditions of coital contact by diplomats from jungle or sea countries. They do it lying on the sand or grass or under the palm fronds which make the alcoves.
In the exact center of this room, in an apparent effort to simulate glaring sunlight, there is a mammoth carbon arc light. This light is fed by carbon bars.
In this way the earliest sexual experiences of diplomats can be reduplicated.
There is a similar rig in a whorehouse in Hong Kong, at 116 Lotus Street, third door from the right.
So this is very good news that we can tell you. The above carbon arc is the interference.
You did not give us any bugs to plant so we did not plant any bugs.
A messenger from the New York office is picking up this report in suitable guise.
We await your further instructions. We will not be ambulant for another month. Always at your service.
Their agent numbers followed.
The report was really a kick in the jaw. They were just doing it to spite me. That was obvious!
It was just a way to lie down on the job and take a vacation at Apparatus expense. It’s happened before.
It made me even more savage at Heller! Most decent, respectable people use Doberman pinschers or Alsatians as watchdogs. He was using high-yellows and a Tahitian whore.
It just shows what can happen when you try to work with somebody who is an amateur in espionage. They go unorthodox! You can’t keep up with them!
In my mood, I could sympathize even harder with that con man Izzy. Once Fate gets started on you, it never knows when to stop!
What would be the next blow?
PART TWENTY-TWO
Chapter 2
Lightning is said never to strike twice in the same place. But there apparently is no law about it striking twice in the same time period.
Around 4:00 AM, I had finally managed to get to sleep in my lonely bed.
I was brought up like a rocket by a savage pounding on my bedroom door.
I unbarred and opened it.
The new gatekeeper was standing there wild-eyed! He was pointing at the gate with a mad, jabbing finger. He stammers so I didn’t wait. I raced across the yard, gripping a Mauser machine pistol, hoping there was somebody or something there I could vent my spleen on by shooting.
No such luck. It was the taxi driver.
“Sultan Bey! Come quick! There is a long-distance person-to-person phone call for you! At the Dregs Hotel!”
It spun me. Groggy from just awakening, and shocked, I could not for the life of me imagine who could be calling me. A crazy idea that it might be Lombar Hisst from Voltar insisted on splitting through my head. But that, time- and spacewise, was impossible. Maybe it was somebody invalidating my bill of sale on Utanc!
He rushed me back to my room and I got some clothes on and shortly we were flying along the bumpy road to Afyon. It was just a little too early for camels and carts so we made good time.
I spilled into the hotel. The night clerk pointed urgently at the phone in the lobby. I grabbed the phone. Post, Telephone and Telegraph in Turkey—PTT—is usually not too bad. The local operator was in a spin.
“Sultan Bey. I will try to get Istanbul back. They disconnected!” I heard some muttering. Then somebody came on the line. My party? No. “Is this Sultan Bey in Afyon?”
I said, “Yes, yes!”
“This is the Istanbul overseas operator. Wait.”
I waited.
Somebody else came on the line. “Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?”
I said, “Yes, yes!”
“This is the Rome overseas operator. Wait.”
I waited.
Somebody else came on the line. A British accent. “Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?”
I said, “Yes, yes!”
“This is the London overseas operator. Wait.”
I waited.
The sound of many coins gonging into a phone.
“Hello, Sultan Bey?”
By all the Gods in all the Heavens!
It was HELLER!
“Is this my old Academy friend?” he said in English.
“Yes,” I said, my mind racing as how to shut him off! All long-distance calls in the world are monitored by the National Security Agency of the United States! They go by satellite!
“We’uns up in Ha’lum is having us a wedding. De date is 2 October r’aht aftuh sunset. We’uns will leave de po’ch light on.”
“My Gods,” I said. How could I shut him off?
“De pahty goin’ be very fancy so don’ bring dat ol’ Miss Blueflash. She trash. You’uns bring dat Prince Caucalsia foh shuah. We goin’ empty he stomach.”
“Good Gods!” I said.
“Now we is countin’ on you coming ’cause we got to write de cap’n you’uns is doin’ jus’ fine. Now de address he be griddle . . .”
“Goodbye!” I screamed. “Goodbye! I be there. Goodbye!”
I hung up hysterically.
The phone rang.
“This is the New York overseas operator. Did you complete your call?”
“My Gods, yes!” I screamed at her and hung up again.
The (bleeped) fool! Calling in plaintext!
“Somebody dead?” said the night clerk in Turkish. “You look awful. Want me to open up the bar?”
I went outside and got in the taxi.
“Somebody dead?” said the taxi driver.
I didn’t answer and we drove off. It was the last bit of the moon for the month. It would be totally dark on October second. He had worked that out. But breaking security . . .
Such was my reaction that for the life of me at that moment, I could not remember the rest of the message.
The taxi driver dumped me at the villa. I went inside.
Then suddenly I realized I would have the message on my recorded strips. I went into the secret room.
I backtracked the strips.
There was Heller in a midtown New York restaurant. A Howard Johnson’s? He was looking out of a phone kiosk into the room, waiting. I could see by the reflection in the glass that he was black-haired and black-faced. He was wearing some kind of workman’s white coveralls.
I skipped ahead through his travails in placing the call.
He ordered and ate three hamburgers.
The phone rang. He went to the kiosk. He got through. He dropped a handful of money into the box.
And there was the call all over again. My ejaculations were a bit loud and I had to turn the volume down.
He was being awfully obscure. I played it through again. I didn’t know any “Miss Blueflash.” Then I worked it out. He meant not to flash the stunlight on landing. Well, of course. He’d be down on the field.
The “porch light” meant he had a radio beacon. I hadn’t known he had taken one.
It was on the third play through that I caught “griddle.” He was probably going to say “griddle cakes.” And he had been about to give the Voltarian Fleet grid position for that exact spot on the planet. It would be a short series of numbers.
But, of course, I knew where he was.
It cam
e to me with a big flash of comprehension why he had bought that roadhouse. It was a landing field for the tug, the Prince Caucalsia!
Aha. “Empty he stomach!” Heller wanted his boxes!
Oh, there was more to this than just a tug landing and a message to Captain Tars Roke. Heller was going to use that roadhouse for something else!
I went over it again carefully. Now I noticed that when he had been cut off so abruptly by me, he had stood there and blinked. And then he had stood there thoughtfully after he hung up.
I tried to work out how the call had been a Code break. I couldn’t.
But the cargo was the thing. Heller wanted that cargo. He was going too (bleeped) fast!
Raht and Terb had callously gone on vacation. I had to think and think quickly.
Then it came to me. The perfect plan!
We would make the delivery. Heller would hand over the letter. I would detain departure long enough to examine the letter in a cabin. Although the first letter was long since sent, I had a copy. If this new letter matched the first letter, I would have the platen because the positions would coincide. And then I could order the Antimancos to kill him.
Wait. I must not let him get any advantage in case I missed on the letter. How could I tamper with the cargo?
This was going to work out all right after all.
I went to bed smiling.
One way or another, Heller was going to be stopped!
PART TWENTY-TWO
Chapter 3
It was not until noon the next day that I got around. Before I retired I had sent a note to Faht Bey that the tug would be leaving on the second, which was two days hence, and I, of course, supposed that by the time I reached the hangar, the crews would be calmly sorting things out for the departure.
Such was not the case!
When I walked into the huge cavern, it looked more like things were being set up for a battle!
Every technician at the base was lined up in the middle of the hangar floor! And the four assassin pilots had their beltguns drawn and trained on them!
The noonday sun was beating down through the optical illusion, making a sort of spotlight on the assembly.
Mission Earth Volume 3: The Enemy Within Page 11