by Gar Wilson
"Mr. McCullum," Manos Draco began. "I was with Mr. Goldblum when our car was attacked. We really had no choice."
"He shouldn't have insisted on playing idiot games with those gangsters in the first place," McCullum responded. "What could you possibly hope to gain?"
"It was a lead," Katz replied. "The only one we could pursue in Athens."
"And what have you and your overzealous companions accomplished?" McCullum persisted. "We're no closer to proving Krio's role in a Communist conspiracy than we were before. I don't mind telling you, Goldblum, there's going to be an investigation of you and your people. We'll find out how you lunatics managed to get your authority. The White House will cut you off. You'll never screw up another Company operation like this..."
"The mission isn't over yet," Katz remarked, removing a cigarette from a pack of Camels.
"As far as you and your kill-happy friends are concerned it is," the CIA control stated.
"You don't have the authority to pull us from the mission," the Israeli told him as he fired the cigarette with his battered Ronson. "We're still in command, McCullum. Whether you like it or not."
"Now see here, Goldblum," McCullum began.
"I've listened to you," Katz said forcefully. "Now you can listen to me. Paul Kalvo was killed and one of my men was wounded tonight. Those are the only casualties on our side thus far. But two of my people are on Krio Island right now. I'm concerned about their safety, and I'm not about to pull out and abandon them."
"That was another stupid mistake..."
"Let me finish," the Phoenix Force commander said sternly. "We've got a job to do and we intend to finish it. I realize you try to conduct CIA operations quietly. The only way an intelligence network can be effective is by maintaining a low profile. I appreciate your position, McCullum. I understand your problems far better than I am at liberty to explain to you. But what's happening on Krio Island is too important to risk the success of our mission for the sake of the Company's public relations in Greece."
"We've managed to keep a lid on everything so far," Draco added. 'The media was told that both gun battles involved local gangsters and undercover police officers. Officially it's over now. The criminals are either dead or under arrest."
"Weren't all the crooks killed?" McCullum inquired.
"A man named Strabo was taken prisoner," Katz answered. "He's currently being held in a hospital under police guard."
"He's wounded?" the control officer asked.
"No," Yakov explained. "He's being questioned by Mr. Johnson."
"Johnson is the black guy, right?" McCullum frowned. "What sort of 'questioning' is he putting Strabo through?"
"Scopolamine," Katz said bluntly.
"What?" McCullum glared at him. "You can't have a man pumped full of truth serum in a goddamn public hospital."
"Tight security of the room is being maintained," the Israeli assured him. "No one goes in or out except Mr. Johnson."
"Who the hell is this Johnson?" the CIA man demanded. "Does he know what he's doing with scopolamine? That stuff can be fatal if it's misused."
"Johnson is aware of that," Katz declared. "He's qualified in the use of both medicine and chemicals. Besides, any risk to Strabo's life is justified under the circumstances. If he dies we'll simply tell the press he expired from injuries suffered during the gun battle."
"Christ," McCullum muttered. "You're a coldblooded son of a bitch, Goldblum."
"Not as cold-blooded as the terrorists we're trying to stop," Katz replied. "Frankly, I'm more concerned about a threat to the lives of thousands of innocent people than I am about a single criminal henchman."
"That sounds like a car just pulled into the driveway," Draco remarked when he heard gravel crunch beneath tires. "I hope it's Nikkos and Miller."
The Greek intel agent moved to a window and peered outside. Then he unlocked the front door and opened it. Nikkos Papadopoulos entered, followed by David McCarter. The Briton's right arm was in a sling, but he held his Browning Hi-Power in his left fist. A third figure stumbled across the threshold, propelled by a shove from Calvin James. The black man entered last and closed the door.
"Anyway," McCarter told Nikkos, "this bloody Scot was as drunk as a lord, so he didn't even realize he'd torn his ruddy kilt..."
"What's going on?" McCullum demanded.
"Who's this bloke?" McCarter asked, shoving the Browning into his belt.
"A confused man who deserves some explanations," Katz replied. He approached the unwilling visitor, whom James had pushed into the room. "Mr. Xerxes, I presume?"
"In the flesh," James confirmed as he opened his Windbreaker to return a Colt Commander to shoulder leather. "This is Theo Xerxes, top dog of the Athens criminal garbage heap. Picked him up at his home half an hour ago, and he's been crying for a lawyer ever since."
"I didn't hear him say nothin' like that." Nikkos grinned. " 'Course, Miller and me was chattin' a bit 'bout Jolly OF England and what not."
"Did you know Nikkos used to live in Great Britain?" McCarter inquired. "That's where he learned to speak English."
"I never would have guessed," Katz said dryly.
"You know what it was like being in the same car with these two," James remarked. "I felt like I was inside a British pub on wheels."
"Wait a minute," McCullum insisted. "You mean you kidnapped this man and brought him here?"
"We had to kidnap the bastard." McCarter shrugged. "Don't have enough evidence to arrest him."
"I will not be party to an illegal abduction," the CIA man declared.
"You're already party to it," Katz told him. "And you may get to witness a lot worse unless Xerxes cooperates with us."
"I demand to make a telephone call," Xerxes announced in surprisingly good English. "You people are making a serious mistake."
Without warning, Katzenelenbogen smacked the back of his left hand across the gangster's face. Xerxes stumbled backward into Calvin James, who abruptly shoved him into a chair.
"You're not in a position to demand anything, Xerxes," Katz snapped. "You're not getting anything unless we decide to let you have it. No lawyer. No phone call. You won't even get your next breath if we decide to deny you of it."
"Told you we weren't working for the Peace Corps," James said to Xerxes.
"I can't condone this sort of behavior..." McCullum began.
"We're not interested in your bloody approval," McCarter informed him. "We're going to get some answers from this bastard. Whatever it takes to make him talk. If we have to turn this room into a bleedin' torture chamber, we'll damn well do it."
McCullum's mouth fell open in mute horror. Xerxes stiffened. Manos Draco and Nikkos stared at the Phoenix Force trio, uncertain if the commandos would actually resort to torture.
But Katz, McCarter and James all knew that Phoenix Force had been created to combat brutality, not participate in it. They had no intention of carrying out McCarter's threat. Not only did they find torture repulsive, they also realized it was a time-consuming, frequently unreliable method.
"Mr. Johnson," Katz began. "Did you learn anything from Strabo?"
"Gave me a full confession," James replied. "Told me quite a few details about Xerxes here. That's how we found him. Strabo knew what rock to look under. Also confirmed that Krio is the real boss of the syndicate. Mr. X is just his lieutenant."
"Did you get all this on tape?" the Israeli inquired.
"Naturally," James said as he took a Memorex cassette from a pocket. "Among other things, Strabo mentioned that he works as a limo driver for Krio. Guess who he picked up at the airport today? Anthony Peters and Ramon Santos."
Katz instantly recognized the cover names being used by Manning and Encizo. "Is Krio suspicious of them?"
"Seems to figure there's a fifty-fifty chance they're spies." The black man nodded. "At least that was the impression Strabo got. The guy doesn't know anything about the Bulgarians except they've got something big going on the island. Strabo figu
red it was some sort of arms-smuggling operation."
"That tape won't be admissable in court," McCullum said curtly. "You've got the confession and other information by illegal means."
"Whose bloody side are you on, you arse?" McCarter said angrily. "Trying to help Xerxes?"
"Don't be upset, Mr. McCullum," Katz urged. "Xerxes isn't going to stand trial."
The Greek gangster glared at Katz. "What is that suppose to mean?"
"You have a choice, Xerxes," the Israeli told him, crushing out his cigarette in an ashtray. "You're going to tell us everything you know about Krio and his connection with the Bulgarians."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Xerxes shrugged.
"Reconsider that answer," Katz warned. "We're prepared to offer you a deal, Xerxes. I don't like making deals with scum like you. It's offensive. But sometimes we have to do things we don't like in this business."
"What kind of deal?" the hoodlum asked tensely.
"You tell us about Krio's operations," Katz began. "His ties to the syndicate, the Bulgarians, everything."
"We want you to make like a canary," James added. "Spill your guts. Squeal your head off. Do a Joe Valachi. Get the picture?"
"What happens if I talk?" Xerxes wanted to know.
"You'll be transported to another country and given a new identity," Katz explained. "You'll receive protection. No one can promise the KGB won't track you down. Their Morkrie Delia assassination section is very good. But how long do you think you'll last without our help?"
"And if I don't cooperate?" the gangster asked.
"Then Mr. Miller and Mr. Johnson will extract a confession from you, anyway." Katz sighed. "But it will be very unpleasant for you, Xerxes."
"Not for me." McCarter chuckled as he lit a Player's cigarette. "I'd love to work on this bloke. Ever have your eyeballs used for an ashtray, Xerxes?"
"Miller's methods are crude," James said, continuing the charade. "But they generally get results. Of course, you're a tough guy, so you probably won't break after just a couple hours of torture. That's when I'll give you a dose of scopolamine."
"After you've been tortured and injected with truth serum," Draco began, playing along with Phoenix Force. "We can't let you live."
"You're bluffing," Xerxes said, but his voice trembled. "If you're serious, you'd simply start working me over. Why offer to deal, instead?"
"Because you might die before you get around to talking," Katz answered. "Heart failure, shock, too much stress on the spinal cord — all are common when torture is employed."
"Scopolamine is risky, too," James added. "I had Strabo hooked up to a polygraph at the hospital so I could watch his heartbeat, blood pressure and all that. No way I can do that here. Your goddamn heart might explode like a water-filled balloon dropped from a fourth-story window."
"The choice is simple, Xerxes," Katz told him. "Life or death."
"I'll deal," the gangster declared grimly.
"Goldblum," McCullum said sharply. "I want to talk to you. Privately, if you don't mind."
Katz and the CIA control officer moved to the kitchen. McCullum thrust an accusing finger at the Israeli. He was so angry his body trembled as if he suffered from malaria.
"You don't have a right to bargain with that man," McCullum declared.
"Does Krio have a right to operate criminal and terrorist activities in Greece?" Katz replied sternly. "Does the KGB have a right to develop a malnutrition virus to use on innocent people?"
"That's not the issue," McCullum snapped.
"Yes, it is," Katz insisted. "If corruption wasn't ignored because men like Krio have powerful friends, we wouldn't be faced with this situation. If the governments and the public in general would recognize the fact that the KGB is more than just an intelligence network for the Soviet Union, we wouldn't be forced to use such desperate methods now. The Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti is an international evil that manipulates, schemes and murders to try to destroy freedom throughout the world."
"I'm CIA," McCullum stated. "Why lecture me about this?"
"Because you're a bureaucrat," the Israeli told him. "The CIA has become too concerned with public opinion. The Company can't keep secrets, it can seldom act effectively and it's oversensitive to criticism when it does. You're not accustomed to confronting the dragon and fighting it tooth and claw. That, my friend, is exactly what we must do before this nightmare will be over."
Before McCullum could respond, Calvin James entered the kitchen. "Xerxes is blabbing his head off into a tape recorder," James began. "He says they're conducting human experiments on the island to test something called the Proteus Enzyme. And you know our friends haven't returned from Krio Island yet."
"I realize that." The Israeli nodded. "But their safety isn't as important as stopping Krio and the terrorists."
"Yeah," James agreed. "And that's something we'd better do damn fast. Xerxes claims they'll start shipping out the terrorists tomorrow morning."
"Draco once mentioned he can get assistance from the Greek parachute regiment," Katz commented. "Said there's an entire battalion on standby. Looks like it's time to call them in."
"But you claimed an air strike was an unacceptable solution," McCullum said.
"We can't let the terrorists off that island," Katz replied. "We're running out of time, and we only have one choice of action left."
"Miller isn't in any shape to go into combat," James commented. "His wound isn't really serious, but there is some damage to muscle tissue that needs to heal first. Better order him not to go on the raid."
" 'Order him not to go'?" Katz rolled his eyes, familiar with McCarter's addiction to action. "We'll probably have to knock him out and lock him in an iron lung to keep him from coming with us."
"You people can't simply launch a raid on Krio Island," McCullum stated in a stunned voice.
"We can," Katz corrected. "And we will. Because it's the only chance we've got to prevent an international massacre from taking place."
17
Gary Manning and Rafael Encizo were unceremoniously dragged outside. The terrorists dumped them facedown on the ground. Hands quickly searched the pair and confiscated their weapons.
Manning glanced up to find himself surrounded by a forest of legs with booted feet. The Canadian's arms were twisted behind his back. He heard steel click and felt the pinch of handcuffs as they locked around his wrists.
"Good evening, gentlemen," a voice declared.
Two terrorists hauled Manning to his feet. The barrel-chested explosives expert blinked and shook his head to clear his blurred vision. He recognized the face that materialized before him.
Colonel Nikolai Kostov bowed curtly. "I can see that you recognize me, American," Kostov declared. "I've tried to keep a low profile, but no one can remain invisible forever. Since you know me, what shall I call you?" Manning was busy gasping air into his lungs. His chest ached. Yet he did not feel the awful gouged sensation that accompanies a bullet wound. He glanced down at his shirt. It was not stained with blood.
"Oh." Kostov laughed. "You're wondering why you aren't dead, eh? After all, you were shot point-blank in the chest. We wanted you alive, so we used rubber bullets."
" 'Rubber'?" Manning rasped.
"Yes," the Bulgarian confirmed. "Rubber bullets were once used as a nonlethal form of riot control back in the sixties. They're still employed by the British in Northern Ireland. We have a supply for certain training exercises. You're a bit bruised, but you aren't really hurt."
"Gary?" Encizo's voice called hoarsely. "You okay, amigo?"
The battered Canadian turned his head toward his partner. Encizo stood between a brace of terrorist goons. The Cuban's hands had also been cuffed behind his back. Manning nodded to assure his partner that he was not injured.
"I'm so glad you're both able to speak," Kostov remarked. "I've got a few questions for you two. I'm going to order Captain Vitosho to escort you to the officers' quarters."
&nb
sp; Kostov gestured at the armed figures who surrounded the Phoenix Force pair. Perhaps a dozen wore gas masks. The rest were clad in a variety of garments. Many were barefoot or dressed only in trousers or undershorts. One young female killer displayed her firm round breasts as she stood naked except for a pair of lace panties.
Some terrorists were armed with assault rifles. Others held submachine guns or pistols. They glared at the captives. Their eyes burned with the sadistic bloodlust that is common to terrorists regardless of sex, nationality or political ideology.
Despite all their claims of devotion to a "righteous cause for the sake of mankind," destruction is the great passion that motivates a terrorist. Their vicious breed craves devastation and murder the way a vampire thirsts for blood, Manning thought as he surveyed the scum.
"These comrades of the people's liberation," Kostov began, unable to keep a snicker from his tone, "are very upset because you killed several of their blood brothers tonight. They'd like nothing better than to tear you limb from limb like an insect in the hands of a cruel child. I suggest you don't try to resist. Captain Vitosho is really much more civilized than the rest of this crowd."
A tall, muscular blond man stripped off his gas mask and smiled at Encizo and Manning. They recognized Captain Igor Vitosho, the Bulgarian paratrooper and commando. Vitosho gestured with his Makarov to indicate one of the billets.
"Try to run, I shoot you in leg," Vitosho warned. "Move. Now, please."
"Who can resist such flawless manners?" Encizo muttered sourly as he shuffled toward the building.
Vitosho and two armed goons escorted Manning and Encizo to the officers' quarters. The interior surprised the Phoenix Force warriors. They entered a quaint room with a sofa, armchairs and an old-fashioned rolltop desk.
"Sit," Vitosho commanded. "Chairs, please."
"What's this room?" Manning inquired as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs. "The officers' lounge?"
"Is room for officers of people's republic to rest and reflect on their duties to country and to war for worldwide socialism," Vitosho replied as if reciting a religious creed.