Harvest Hell

by Gar Wilson

  "Then I was right." The Canadian shrugged. "It's the officers' lounge."

  Kostov entered a few seconds later. He approached the pair and folded his arms on his chest. The Bulgarian colonel shook his head sadly.

  "I told Krio not to let you corns to the island," he declared. "It was another stupid mistake that Greek made. He's made several already."

  "Well, he's an amateur," Manning commented. "It must gripe a professional like you to have to work with a guy like Krio."

  "He's a very shrewd man," Kostov began as he took a gunmetal cigarette case from his pocket. "But basically a greedy capitalist, better suited to the cutthroat world of international trade than the shadowy domain of espionage. Greed and arrogance are his weaknesses."

  "What's your main vice, Kostov?" Encizo enquired. "Power? Murder? Genocide?"

  "I am following orders," the Bulgarian answered as he lit a Russian black cigarette. "I did not ask for this assignment. Frankly, I do not like it. But that is a moot point, since all of us must obey our superiors."

  "Maybe guys like you ought to start refusing orders," Encizo suggested. "Or do something about the bastards who issue them."

  "That's a naive remark for a professional to make," Kostov said. "And you're both obviously professionals."

  "We can't be too good, or we wouldn't have been captured." Manning sighed. "What did we do wrong?"

  "Just a stroke of bad luck," the Bulgarian explained. "Captain Vitosho decided to check on the guards. When he found them dead, he alerted the rest of us. Then we saw you on our television monitors."

  "Shit," Encizo grunted. "It figures the closed-circuit system would be transmitting to more than one set of monitors. I should have guessed that."

  "Your security setup is very imaginative, Colonel," the Canadian remarked. "That false cyanide gas was a clever trick."

  " 'False'?" Kostov raised his eyebrows. "Why do you think the cyanide wasn't genuine?"

  "You wouldn't have used poison gas if you wanted us alive," Manning answered. "Besides, even brief exposure to cyanide gas would have made us pretty sick. Also, your troops with the rubber bullets wore gas masks, but some of them didn't wear shirts, and none of them had gloves or headgear. They would have needed better protection, since cyanide gas seeps through the pores of skin, as well as into nostrils and mouths."

  "Very good." The Bulgarian smiled. "It was actually a rather mild tear-gas compound with an almond scent. However, if it had been necessary, there is a secondary gas-tank linkup that would have ejected genuine cyanide into the corridors."

  "Naturally," Encizo sneered. "You wouldn't have been concerned about Dr. Chekov or the three human subjects you tested the Proteus Enzyme on."

  "How much do you know about the Proteus Enzyme?" Kostov demanded.

  "We're not really your problem now," Encizo said, twisting about in his chair as if trying to get in a more comfortable position. "You ought to be more concerned about our friends who have already prepared to stop your terrorist flunkies from slipping out of here to spread the enzyme to other countries."

  Kostov stared at Encizo and Manning, trying to read their expressions and body language. The men of Phoenix Force had been trained to conceal physical signs of stress. Kostov frowned and drew deeply on his cigarette.

  "Your friends can't know very much, or they wouldn't have sent you here," the Bulgarian said. "You probably guessed about the plans to use the terrorists — as you call them — as sabotage agents."

  "Are we guessing that the enzyme was developed in the Soviet Union?" Manning added. "Or that it's been tested on prisoners in Siberian labor camps?"

  "Chekov could have told you that." Kostov shrugged.

  "One of the victims was Uri Yosefthal." The Canadian smiled. "He was sent to the United States, where he died of malnutrition. Our scientists have already put together the formula for Proteus and our intel people know the KGB is responsible."

  "That's impossible," Kostov stated. "If you're really familiar with the Proteus Enzyme, tell me about the frog."

  Neither Manning nor Encizo could think of a bluff concerning a frog. The Bulgarian smiled.

  "There is a small species of tree frog native to Australia that has such a ridiculously long Latin name only a zoologist would bother to memorize it," Kostov explained. "However, this frog has a single unique ability found nowhere else in the animal kingdom. The female swallows her eggs and actually gives birth to her young inside her stomach."

  Kostov smashed the tip of his cigarette into a brass ashtray. "Scientists around the world have been interested in this strange little frog for that reason. They've been trying to determine why the frog doesn't digest its young. If they can unravel this secret, it may lead to new methods for treating ulcers, digestive problems, even stomach cancer."

  "Or the Proteus Enzyme," Manning remarked grimly.

  "That is already a reality," Kostov said. "Last year, a Russian scientist doing research on the tree frog discovered the Proteus formula quite by accident. The chemical enzyme he developed is similar to the natural process of the tree frog that prevents it from digesting its young. I'm not a chemist and I don't claim to understand how such things work, but the enzyme causes a chain reaction in warm-blooded animals. Man, of course, is a mammal, so this applies to him, as well.

  "This chain reaction affects not only the stomach," Kostov continued. "All systems connected with digestion are altered. Even the blood doesn't carry nutrients to the rest of the body. This mutation is so dramatic that the enzyme was named Proteus, after the Greek sea god who could transform himself into any creature or object."

  "And the KGB naturally saw this as a wonderful addition to their chemical-warfare arsenal," Manning said with disgust.

  "Biochemical warfare is a loathsome business," Kostov agreed. "But is nuclear war more acceptable?"

  "Nobody has launched missiles at Mother Russia," Encizo declared.

  "Only because the USSR can fire back with her own nuclear weapons," Kostov insisted. "Eventually one of the superpowers — it does not matter who starts it — will trigger a terrible war of devastation that will annihilate civilization as we know it."

  "And you think the Proteus Enzyme is a better solution?" Encizo asked. "That's insane, Kostov. How can you defend the use of a weapon like that? You're an intelligent, rational man. How can you condone a chemical that will cause thousands of innocent people to die of malnutrition?"

  "Thousands are dying of malnutrition in Third World countries." The Bulgarian shrugged. "Are their lives less important than those of Americans?"

  "That's bullshit and you know it," Manning said bluntly. "People in underdeveloped countries aren't suffering because somebody infected them with a man-made enzyme for the purpose of conquest. Your comparison isn't valid, Kostov. So no more cheap shots unless you've got one that isn't stupid."

  "Do you like this comparison better?" Kostov began. "Thousands will die from the Proteus Enzyme, true. Yet millions, if not billions, will be killed in a nuclear war."

  "That's your idea of a better excuse?" Encizo scoffed, once again squirming in his chair. "That makes as much sense as committing suicide because you might get cancer in the future."

  The door suddenly flung open, and Dimitri Krio angrily stomped into the room. Kostov smiled, obviously pleased by the tycoon's reaction.

  "Your houseguests were restless, comrade," the Bulgarian told him. "We found them poking about the lab building. They've really been rather naughty..."

  "Aren't you getting tired of gloating, Colonel?" Krio inquired stiffly.

  "They killed four men..." Kostov began.

  "Damn it!" the Greek snapped. "It's pointless to lecture me. All I can tell you is that my people searched their luggage and clothing. They found nothing suspicious. The guards who patrolled outside the house reported nothing unusual."

  "Which proves your people are as incompetent as you are, Krio," Kostov stated.

  "We can trade insults later," Krio growled. "I want to kn
ow why the tanks are being moved."

  "I ordered the troops to transport the canisters to the boats," Kostov replied curtly. "We can't afford to wait until tomorrow."

  "Tanks?" Encizo inquired.

  "That's right," Kostov answered. "You two didn't see the tanks. You only got to the cell block. The laboratory is located at a lower level. A storage section is also underground. Tanks containing the Proteus Enzyme are kept there."

  "That explains the tight security of that building," Encizo remarked. "Proteus must be pretty unstable."

  " 'Unstable'?" Krio laughed. "Don't you mean deadly?"

  The Greek turned to the open door and snapped an order at one of the men outside. A bearded terrorist entered, carrying a diver's air tank by its harness straps. Krio abruptly took the canister and hauled it into the room.

  "Be careful with that," Kostov warned.

  "This tank contains enough enzyme to infect a small city," the Greek declared, his eyes burning fiercely. "Proteus is in a gaseous form. Released into the air, it can be spread by the wind over a ten-mile radius without its losing any of its lethal potential.

  "The tanks are disguised as scuba gear so they can be smuggled on the boats without attracting suspicion," Kostov added. "The agents will be transported with the tanks to target areas in West Germany, Japan, Great Britain, Canada and, of course, the United States."

  "How will they use the gas?" Manning inquired. "By flying over a city and spraying it like crop-dusting?"

  "Nothing so obvious," the Bulgarian colonel replied. "A tank need only be placed on a rooftop and exploded by a simple time bomb. Virtually all terrorists know how to use such a device. The wind will do the rest."

  "You guys are cannon fodder," Manning declared. "You're being used by the KGB because they realize this is too risky to succeed. You may kill a lot of people, but the scheme will be discovered before you can begin to actually weaken an entire nation."

  "The KGB supports terrorists because they cause unrest, fear and distrust in other countries," Encizo added. "Terrorists aren't expected to topple governments. They're suppose to upset the population and contribute to turmoil. You're dreaming if you think you'll accomplish more than that with this Proteus Enzyme crap."

  "You both seem to forget that the effects of the enzyme are not immediate," Krio stated. "How much alarm will a few hundred or even a thousand minor explosions on rooftops cause? Remember, these will occur all over the world. Tiny little incidents that appear to harm no one. Individually, they will hardly merit mention in a local newspaper. No one will become ill until a few days later. By the time anyone connects the explosions with the rash of bizarre deaths that follow, it will be too late."

  "What do you have to gain from this, Krio?" Encizo demanded. "What did the KGB offer a millionaire to make him participate in such lunacy?"

  "The Soviet Union is going to become the ruling force throughout the world," the Greek answered. "When that happens, I will become the supreme commander of all shipping trade in the Mediterranean. I'll also receive a position on the board of political affairs in Greece when the Soviets set up a new government here."

  Krio smiled when he saw the startled expressions on the faces of the Phoenix Force vets.

  "It surprises you that I value a position of authority more than wealth?" he asked. "Money loses its value when you have more of it than you can possibly spend. You yearn for the things it cannot buy. My dear departed father cared only about money. He built his fortune and kept it by kowtowing to whoever was in charge of the government at the time. He groveled for the monarchs, and he licked the jackboots of the Nazis. Whatever the rulers required, he gave it to them just to avoid harassment. Despite his wealth, he danced to their music."

  "And you'd rather dance to the Red Square Waltz?" Encizo sneered.

  "I will be one of the most powerful men in the world," the Greek stated. "For that, I would happily make a deal with Satan himself."

  "You're assuming this plan will succeed," Manning said, "and that the KGB will honor their promises. Do you honestly think you can trust them? If so, you obviously don't know what kind of people you're dealing with."

  "That is my concern," Krio said as he placed the gas canister on the floor. "But you won't live to know the outcome."

  He removed a small, slender metal tube from his shirt pocket. It resembled a miniature spray can of chemical mace. The Greek aimed it at Gary Manning's face.

  "This is a little contraption that's already been issued to the KGB's Morkrie Delia agents," Krio declared. "It's similar to the old MVD cyanide-gas gun used by SMERSH assassins. However, this tube contains an aerosol version of the Proteus Enzyme. One whiff and you're infected. You won't feel any different at first, but a few days later you'll suffer from stomach cramps. You'll become nauseous. You won't be able to defecate or urinate. You may go to a hospital, but they won't be able to help..."

  "Put that away," Kostov ordered. "We can't allow these two men to live for several days after what they've heard in this room. Besides, they deserve the professional consideration of a quick and dignified death."

  The colonel turned to Captain Vitosho and uttered a curt command in Bulgarian. Vitosho nodded. He stepped forward and aimed his Makarov pistol at Rafael Encizo's head. The cold steel muzzle pressed against the Cuban's temple.

  Encizo's facial muscles tensed, but his eyes revealed stubborn defiance, not fear. Vitosho's finger slowly squeezed the trigger...

  18

  Encizo suddenly pivoted in his chair. He jerked his head away from the pistol and thrust the heel of his left hand into Vitosho's wrist. The Makarov roared and blasted a harmless round into the ceiling.

  The Cuban's right hand whipped out to seize the pistol. Light flashed on the steel handcuffs that dangled from his wrist. He twisted the Makarov hard. Bone snapped. Vitosho howled. His finger had been caught in the trigger guard.

  Encizo pulled the Makarov from the Bulgarian's grasp and quickly swung a backhand sweep at Vitosho's face. The empty handcuff manacle struck the captain's cheekbone, and Vitosho staggered backward from the blow.

  Everyone in the room was startled by Encizo's unexpected actions. Unaccustomed to combat, Dimitri Krio stood dumbfounded, his mouth open in amazement. The two terrorist sentries, inexperienced and poorly trained, were even less prepared. They raised their weapons but hesitated, fearful of shooting Vitosho.

  Colonel Kostov was a professional. He immediately reached for a Makarov pistol in a holster at the small of his back. However, Gary Manning was also a pro, and his youthful reflexes were faster than the Bulgarian's.

  The Canadian bolted from his chair and quickly rammed the top of his hard skull into Krio's chest. The head butt propelled Krio backward into Kostov before the colonel could draw his Makarov. Both men stumbled into a wall.

  One of the terrorists had switched the safety selector of his Czech Model 61 submachine gun to semiautomatic. He prepared to aim the weapon at Encizo. Manning's hands were still cuffed behind his back, but his feet were not bound. He suddenly kicked the machine pistol out of the guard's fingers.

  The startled terrorist snarled and reached for Manning's throat. The Canadian turned sharply and lunged his right buttock and hip between the man's splayed legs. A choking gasp erupted from the terrorist's throat as he folded in agony.

  Manning promptly slammed a knee under his opponent's jaw. The terrorist crashed to the floor, unconscious, but the other sentry swung his AK-47 at the Canadian. Encizo triggered the Makarov he had taken from Vitosho. A 9mm slug shattered skull bone and ripped through the terrorist's brain.

  Two more members of the local goon squad burst into the room. Kostov aimed his Makarov at the Cuban. Vitosho had drawn a bayonet from its belt scabbard and prepared to lunge. Then everyone froze when they saw Encizo point his pistol at the gas canister on the floor.

  "Go ahead," the Cuban invited, "kill me. But you'd better hope I don't manage to squeeze this trigger, or you'll all get a lethal dose of the Proteus Enzym
e."

  "Hold your fire!" Kostov ordered. He repeated the command in three languages to be certain everyone understood him.

  "What kind of Houdini trick did you have up your sleeve to get out of those cuffs?" Manning asked as he shuffled over to his Cuban partner.

  "Not up my sleeve," Encizo replied with a grin, but he still aimed the Makarov at the canister. "I had a handcuff key taped to the inside of my belt at the small of my back. It's an old cop trick. If a hood gets the drop on a policeman and uses his own cuffs on him, the cop can use the hidden key to free himself."

  "Sure glad your key fit the cuffs," Manning commented. "What did you do with it?"

  "The key is on the chair," Encizo answered. "Okay, Kostov. Put down your weapon and tell everybody else to do likewise."

  "He's bluffing," Krio declared.

  "No," Kostov corrected. "Men who have nothing to lose have no reason to bluff about death."

  Vitosho returned his bayonet to its sheath. He smiled despite the gash on his cheek and nodded respectfully at the Cuban. The captain then turned and marched out the door.

  "I won't tell you again, Colonel," Encizo warned.

  Kostov tossed his pistol onto the sofa and ordered the others to leave. The terrorists retreated from the building. Only the Phoenix Force pair, Kostov, Krio and the unconscious sentry remained.

  "I told you just to make them lay down their arms," Encizo said. "I didn't say they were supposed to leave."

  "You don't need them." Kostov shrugged.

  After considerable effort and physical contortion, Manning managed to get the handcuff key from the chair. He freed himself and gathered up the deadman's Ralashnikov. "Order your boys to bring in another gas canister," the Canadian demanded. "And don't be cute this time, Kostov. Like you said, we've got nothing to lose."

  Kostov shouted to the terrorists outside. A skinny female barbarian soon hauled a second tank across the threshold. Manning noticed she was unarmed except for a sheath knife on her belt. The Canadian gestured for her to give him the canister. She obeyed.