Berlin

by Nick Carter

  "All kinds of birds fly in here," she said, coming up to press herself against me, her lips smooth and warm on mine. Her hands were moving down my waist. "I wish we could stay," she murmured. I dropped the feather and held her close.

  "Me, too," I said. "And cut it out. You're only making it worse." Helga smiled and stepped back. Her hand found mine and we went down to the courtyard and the little Opel. As we drove down the winding lane, back onto the main road, I saw she was wearing a smile that went beyond contentment, a smile that was of satisfaction. A most unusual girl, this Helga Ruten, I decided once again and as I drove toward West Berlin my thoughts kept returning to the night before. It had been the first night I'd ever slept as a guest in a castle and, as I thought about it, I realized that for all the times Helga had mentioned her uncle, I knew nothing at all about the man. I thought of asking his name, but I decided against it. It had been a lovely interlude. Why probe further? Hawk would be meeting me in a few hours with God knows what assignment. Helga would be a lovely memory. And if I did see her again, there'd be plenty of time to bring it up then.

  We reached Helmstedt, the checkpoint for all traffic from West Germany on the Autobahn, in good time. My papers were checked and passed. Helga had her residence identification from West Berlin. From Helmstedt to West Berlin on the Autobahn came out to exactly 104 miles of fairly bumpy road. I decided the Autobahn could stand some repairs. The only good thing was the unlimited speed possibilities. The little car went as fast as it could and was a hot, grinding thing when we reached West Berlin where, after a final check by the Vopos, the East German Volkspolizei or People's Police, we were passed on through. Once inside West Berlin, an oasis of freedom surrounded by the Communist sea of East Germany, Helga directed me to her place not far from Tempelhof Airport. She swung her young sturdy legs out of the car and came around to the driver's side. She took out a key ring, snapped a key from it and handed it to me.

  "If you're staying on in West Berlin," she said, her blue eyes impassive. "It'll be cheaper than a hotel."

  "If I stay, you can count on it," I said, dropping the key into my pocket. She turned and walked away, her hips swinging. I watched her walk into 27 Ulme Strasse, put the little Opel into gear and took off before I decided to follow her. The key in my pocket burned with a delightful anticipation that I was confident my meeting with Hawk would extinguish. I headed for Kurfürstendamm Strasse and AXE headquarters in West Berlin.

  III

  My rented car had been pushed beyond its endurance, and it was sounding more and more like a coffee grinder as I headed for West Berlin's Fifth Avenue, Kurfürstendamm Strasse. I'd switched off Helga and it was a different me now. Strictly business, every sense turned on to full. It was always like that with me. There came a moment, a time, an instant when agent N3 took over completely. It was partly training and partly some inner mechanism which seemed to switch on by itself. Maybe it was triggered by the scent of danger or the anticipation of combat or the excitement of the chase. I don't really know, except that it always happened and I could feel the difference come over me. Whether it was this heightened alertness or just a matter of habit, but as I checked my rear-view mirror I suddenly realized something. I had picked up a tail. Traffic was heavy and I'd cut through a number of side streets to try and make time and whenever I glanced through my mirror I saw the Lancia two or three cars back. It was a steel-gray, powerful job, about a 1950 vintage, I guessed, that could hit a hundred with ease. It was a car whose performance fifteen years ago was not really outdone by today's models. I turned a few more corners. My suspicions were right. The Lancia was still there, a good tail, staying a few cars back so as not to arouse suspicion. They didn't know it, but I was easily aroused and naturally suspicious.

  At first I wondered how in hell they had gotten onto me so quickly. Then, as I thought back, I realized that they could have picked me up at a number of spots, entering East Germany, at the West Berlin checkpoint, or even when I rented the Opel back in Frankfurt. That wouldn't surprise me now. I was getting grimly respectful of this bunch, whoever they were. They had a helluva network and they had shown themselves to be ruthless and efficient. And now they were sticking with me, waiting for me to lead them to AXE headquarters here in West Berlin. Like hell, friends, I angrily answered them. That was one thing I wouldn't do, even if it meant my not showing up.

  I pushed the little Opel into a traffic circle, went around it twice and then cut off down a narrow street. The Lancia had to cut sharply and almost didn't make the comer, I noted with satisfaction. I turned sharply at the next corner, and then left at the next. I could hear the Lancia's tires squeal on the sharp, narrow corners. If these narrow, twisting streets held out I could lose them. But they didn't hold out, I saw with an oath as I found myself on a broad street lined with warehouses and truck depots. Through the mirror I saw the Lancia open up. They knew now that I knew and they were no longer tailing me. They were after me, cutting around trucks and gaining fast. The Lancia's heavy chassis with big fenders and powerful bumpers could crush the little Opel like an eggshell. I knew the bit all too well. A collision, an accident and they took off to let the polizei wrestle with the remains.

  The Opel was straining, making more noise and doing less and the damned depots fining the street seemed endless. There was no place to turn and the Lancia was coming up fast. Suddenly I saw it, a narrow cut between two of the depots. I swerved, hearing the tires howl in protest as the car leaned over. One fender hit a corner of a loading platform on one of the depots, putting a deep gash in it, but I had made the passageway, tissue-paper to spare on each side. I hadn't heard the Lancia brake to a screeching halt, which bothered me. I found out why when I came out at the end of the passageway to see the steel-gray car hurtle around a corner two blocks below. I saw they had another advantage. They knew West Berlin far better than I did.

  I was on another wide street and saw the Lancia barreling up to me again. I started to cut across to a group of side streets, but suddenly realized I was out of time. The Lancia would go into me broadside at full speed. I wrenched the wheel the other way just as the heavier car hurtled up, catching my rear fender and sending the little Opel spinning like a top. The Lancia had overshot and had to brake and back up. I came out of the spin gunning the Opel forward across the wide street and into one of the narrower side streets. I heard the Lancia's engines roar as they took after me again. I hadn't been able to get a look at the occupants of the Lancia, but I saw there were at least three, perhaps four, men.

  I swung out of the side street into an area of warehouses and open-air grocery markets. People and cars were lined up outside the grocery markets and I snaked my way through them, catching a glimpse of the Lancia emerging from the side street. Once again, the tight areas gave my little car a temporary advantage that I knew would evaporate as soon as the Lancia threaded its way through the crowds. I pointed the Opel toward a big, square, drab building with boarded-up windows and skidded to a halt alongside two wide, overhead delivery doors that were shut. I glanced back to see the Lancia, headed straight for me, gathering speed. I dived out the door opposite the driver's seat, hitting the ground and rolling over just as the crash resounded. I looked up to see the Opel flattened against the heavy steel warehouse doors. I saw the Lancia, as it backed off, was not only heavier, but carried a reinforced front end that was without damage except for some crumpled metal.

  I had seen the smaller entrance alongside the heavy overhead steel doors and my shoulder hit it just as they pegged the first shot at me. It flew open and I paused to glance back." I'd been right, there were four of them tumbling out of the Lancia. I decided to let Wilhelmina slow them down a little. One shot did it, scattering them like leaves in a sudden gust of wind as I ran into the building. It was more of a cold storage depot than an active warehouse, a dim, cavernous building with rows upon rows of crates, bales and boxes piled atop each other. A network of steel ladders and catwalks led to open sided floors of steel where more boxes and
crates were stacked. My thought had been to simply race through the building and out the rear. It had been a good enough idea except that there was no rear exit. Everything was barred and boarded up tight. I heard the sounds of voices and footsteps and I flattened myself against one of the rows of crates. They were separating, fanning out to find me. Textbook strategy, but unimaginative and it could backfire. I heard one of them moving down the corridor toward me, hurrying, being incautious. I would have taken him quickly, quietly and easily with one blow from Wilhelmina when a floorboard creaked beneath my foot just as he came opposite me. He whirled and I was surprised. I'd expected a big German or perhaps a burly Russian. This one was short, black haired and dark complexioned with a prominent, beaked nose. I saw him start to bring up his right hand, saw the gun in it and I swung, connecting solidly right on the point of the jaw. He went down in a heap, but not before the gun went off, the shot echoing off the walls of the warehouse.

  Other footsteps were running toward me at once and I ducked down one of the passageways between the crates, cut through another one and dived behind a third stack. I heard them get the one to his feet and then they spread out along one of the corridors so they could work their way back together. I looked behind and saw that I could move back, but it would only be a delaying action. In minutes I'd be up against the barred and boarded rear wall and out of hiding and running space. The crates in front of me were stacked up in step-like fashion. Reaching up, I pulled myself up onto the nearest ones and then I climbed onto the top row. Lying flat, I edged myself across the tops of the crates until I reached the forward edge and looked down onto the corridors below. They were advancing slowly, carefully peering around the corners of each cross passageway. Two of them were blond and big as I'd expected. The other two were smaller, black haired and swarthy.

  If I were going to get out of this it wouldn't be by an exchange of gunfire. I'd only end up trapping myself into a gun battle in which the odds were four to one and my position would be pinned down. The warehouse had turned out to be something of a cul-de-sac and I had to get out as quickly as possible. As I pulled myself over it, one of the crates teetered. I drew back and looked down at the searchers. One of the blond ones was just underneath. I rapidly calculated the distance between the rows of crates as about four feet. It was worth a try and it would take them by surprise. That element was the thing I needed to give me even a few seconds jump on them.

  I pushed hard on the top crate. It toppled over, perfectly on target. But the sound of its scraping over the edge of the crate beneath it gave the man a chance to look up and duck away. Nevertheless, it caught him a glancing blow that sent him sprawling in pain, clutching his shoulder as he hit the floor. I leaped across the chasm separating the rows of crates, landing on my feet atop the opposite row. I made no effort to be silent now, as I raced across the tops of the boxes and bales. Speed was the essential thing. I judged the next leap without stopping and took it on the run, this time landing on my hands and knees. I scrambled down the sides of the crates to the floor and raced for the entrance. I could hear them racing after me, but the few seconds of surprise had given me the jump on them I needed. I was outside and racing across the cobblestones before they reached the door. A group of curious people were gathered around the flattened wreck of the Opel, no doubt waiting for the cops to arrive on the scene. The Lancia, a grim, forbidding symbol, stood waiting.

  Glancing back, I saw three of them now coming after me. I was heading for the open-air grocery-market stalls, hoping I'd lose myself in the crowd, when I saw the girl just getting into the Mercedes 250SL coupe with an armload of groceries. It was just what I needed. The car, not the girl. The Mercedes, I knew, could outrun the Lancia. The girl, I saw in one fast, sweeping glance, was pretty, lithe and tall, wearing a light gray sweater and pearl-gray slacks. I reached the car just as she opened the door at the driver's side and started to get in. She turned, alarm in her hazel eyes as I shoved in beside her pushing her from behind the wheel.

  "Be quiet," I growled at her. "I won't hurt you." Not on purpose, I added to myself. I realized I'd spoken in English and started to translate into German when she interrupted.

  "I understand English," she snapped. "What is this?"

  I switched the engine on, hearing the sweet, full roar of the Mercedes power plant.

  "Nothing," I said, sending the Mercedes coupe roaring directly at the three men. They scattered, diving for the protection of the Lancia as I took off past them. The girl glanced back, seeing the Lancia immediately come to life and start after us.

  "Stop this at once," she commanded crisply.

  "Sorry," I said, sending the Mercedes around a corner on two wheels.

  "You're not German," she said. "You're American. What are you running from? What are you, an Army deserter?"

  "No," I said, taking another corner on. the side of the tires. "But this isn't quiz time, honey. Save it."

  I saw her glance back at the pursuing Lancia. I'd come upon an open stretch and pressed the accelerator, feeling the Mercedes leap forward. I smiled.

  "I'm glad you're happy," the girl said with asperity. "Where are you going? What are you going to do with me?"

  "Nothing," I said. "Relax."

  "And leave the driving to you," she added. I shot her a quick glance. She was very pretty, I saw, with a pert, saucy face that was extremely cool and self-contained. Her breasts were filling the sweater without effort. I was going to ask her where she'd learned that kind of American jargon when the shot pinged across the roof of the car.

  "Get down!" I yelled at her and she promptly slid to the floor, looking up at me.

  "I'm not relaxed," she said.

  "Neither am I," I answered, careening around another corner. She was a very cool customer, I saw. She was studying me from her spot on the floor with the calmness she might have used in a living room. Another shot grazed the roof of the Mercedes. They realized that there was little chance of their overtaking me. Their only resort now was to stop me. The avenue had swung around so that we were paralleling a half-dozen sets of railroad tracks on what was apparently a service road. A fast passenger train powered by a diesel engine hurtled past in the opposite direction. So did an idea. I was beginning to conclude that I couldn't really shake my pursuers, even with the Mercedes, here in the city. There were just too many turns and twists and traffic obstacles. I needed a highway to outrun them and there wasn't one around. But there was something I could do and the first step was to put some more space between the Lancia and myself. I gunned the Mercedes and saw the girl, still crouched on the floor, stiffen as we sped along the avenue, swerving and slipping past other cars by inches, avoiding collisions by split seconds.

  "Why don't you give yourself up?" she asked. "It's better than being dead. You'll kill us both."

  "You do just as I say and you'll be all right," I answered her. I was overtaking a speeding express train and I could read the sign on the side of the cars: BERLIN-HAMBURG-SCHNELIZUG. It was a fast train, all right. I had to hit over a hundred to pass it. The Lancia had dropped back out of sight temporarily, but I knew they were still there. I saw the girl's saucy face watching me with eyes narrowed. It was going to be a close one, I knew. As the railroad crossing came into view, not more than a mile ahead, I kicked the Mercedes up still further, watching the speedometer needle climb to 115. We were almost at the crossing. I shot a glance back at the express.

  "Get on the seat," I yelled at the girl, saw her pull herself up. "When I say so, you dive out of this car and run forward across the tracks, understand? And, baby, you better move or you won't be around to ask any more questions."

  She didn't answer. She didn't need to. She had taken in the hurtling diesel just back of us and the upcoming crossing. My hands were wet on the wheel, my fingers cramped. I flexed my right hand, then my left, took another grip on the wheel. We were at the crossing point. I swung the Mercedes, braking only enough to avoid turning over and skidded to a halt dead on the tracks. The
diesel was not more than a hundred feet away, a huge behemoth with not the ghost of a chance of stopping.

  "Out!" I yelled at the girl and I saw she was already opening the door. I watched her rear end disappear out the door as I followed after her. I did a rolling somersault and was back on my feet before she was. I grabbed her hand, yanked her to her feet and started to run with her. We had just cleared the tracks when the locomotive plowed into the Mercedes. The day lit up with a ball of flame that scorched my back and knocked me forward. The sound of tearing, rending metal screeched through the explosion. The girl yanked her hand free and stopped to look back at the twisted, burning mass still being pushed by the diesel.

  "My car!" she cried out in dismay.

  "I'll get you a new one," I said, grabbing her hand and yanking her along. By now the Lancia had reached the scene, I knew, and was halted on the other side of the tracks, its occupants convinced I had misjudged and was inside the wreckage, rapidly on my way to becoming a cinder. I smiled in satisfaction and finally paused as we reached an intersection a few blocks away. It would take them hours to clear the tracks.

  I looked at the girl standing beside me, panting, trying to catch her breath, her face smudged and smeared from where she'd hit the roadbed by the tracks. I had the chance to really look at her now, and I found myself appreciating the nice, high line of her breasts, her long, lithe legs sheathed in the gray slacks. She maintained her cool, self-contained control and she was studying me with speculation dancing in her hazel eyes.

  "You're no deserter," she said firmly. "I don't know what you are, but it's not that."

  "Go to the head of the class," I said.

  "Just what are you?" she asked. "Some kind of nut?"

  "You speak a damned colloquial American for a German girl," I said with a frown.

  "I go to a lot of American movies," she answered blandly.