by Nick Carter
I grinned at him. His whole attitude had changed since Erika had set him straight, and he seemed to accept the fact that she was not attracted to him physically. I looked at the Smith & Wesson.38 revolver resting in its belt holster on his waist and was glad I had him along. Erika was a smart agent, but Zach was muscle. He was a gun expert and had brought a case of assorted weapons along with him in the car.
We climbed the tree. About halfway to the top, I began having a new respect for the CIA agents who had had to do this regularly during their recent concentrated surveillance. When we arrived at the platform, we were exhausted. Erika was still nervous from the climb and from the height at which she now found herself.
"God, was it worth it?" she gasped.
I grabbed a pair of high-powered binoculars from around my neck and looked through them toward the plantation. Then I pointed to it. "What do you think?" I asked.
She looked at what Zach and I had already seen — an open view through the leaves of the entire farm area. From this point an observer, with the help of binoculars, could see what was going on anywhere on the plantation. Besides the main building, which was the ranch house, there was a cluster of other buildings around it, most of them to the rear, which looked like barracks structures and service buildings. It was an impressive set-up. The fenced area was entirely planted with trees and shrubs, and there were dirt drives and parking areas. Outside the fence lay an area that used to be planted with rubber trees when a previous owner had lived there, but the jungle had strangled them.
Erika had the binoculars and was scanning the place. "You were right, Nick. The mosquitoes can't fly this high." She sighed happily.
"Maybe we're going about this all wrong," Zach said after a while. "With that scope-sighted rifle I have in the car, I could sit up here and pick off Stavros' men all day. With you down at the fence pitching in, as you Americans say, we might be able to demolish them before we ever get inside."
"How are you going to get them all outside?" I asked. "And, having gotten them out, how do we keep them out there while we're picking them off?"
"Also," Erika added, "if we attack from outside, there is every chance they will get to Minourkos before we do and kill him."
"That's true," I said. "And if they kill him, we may not learn anything here."
"It's true that we can't jeopardize Minourkos," Zach agreed. "But I could make excellent use of the rifle up here. It seems such a pity."
Zach was just a little too eager to kill, I thought. It was too much like a hunting trip to him. I intended to dispose of anybody who really got in the way, but I saw no point in killing unnecessarily. You could not judge, sentence, and execute every man down there just because he happened to work for Stavros.
We watched the plantation for the next several hours, until mid-afternoon, taking turns with the binoculars. The CIA had estimated the small force at the place to be about a half dozen and no more than eight From spending those hours on the platform, seeing men come and go, our own observation confirmed that conclusion. We would be outnumbered by at least two to one when the confrontation developed.
We didn't see Minourkos until just before leaving the platform. Then his presence at the place was verified. He came out of a barracks building with another man, walked to the front entrance of the ranch house and went in. I had the binoculars on him all the time, and when he disappeared inside there was no doubt in my mind that the man I had seen was Nikkor Minourkos. At least we had not come here on a wild goose chase.
Just before we climbed back down the tree, I reiterated our plan of entry.
"All right," I said, "We'll go back to the car and drive right up to the place as if we're Stavros' best friends. Let me do the talking to the man on the gate. We'll say we're from the Brazilian League, and when we get inside we'll insist on seeing Heinz Gruber, the man in charge during Stavros' absence. I just hope they don't already know what I look like here at the plantation."
Erika opened a shoulder purse and removed a small snub-nosed Belgian revolver, a.25 caliber. It was a beautiful little gun with a pearl handle and fancy engraving. I knew she could shoot it from my past association with her. She checked its cylinder and replaced it in her purse.
"Everything will go all right," she said.
Zach was eager to go. "We will handle them," he said.
"Yes," I agreed. I wished I were all that sure.
Five
We drove the last fifty yards to the gate slowly. The man on duty there was already watching our approach. He was dressed in khakis like us, with a folding, automatic rifle slung on his shoulder. He took it off and readied it for action as he watched us come.
"If we don't get past this fellow, the ball game is over," I said to them. "So play it cool." Erika nodded.
"Yes," Zach added. He had his lightweight bush jacket back on, as I did, to hide his weapons. Mine were the usual, but Zach had an assortment that was incredible. In addition to the.38 revolver, he carried a small Sterling.380 PPL automatic in his pocket and had also secreted a throwing knife and garrote on his person. He was a walking arsenal. I hoped it kept him alive.
We stopped just ten feet from the guard. I was behind the wheel, so I spoke to him loudly and forcefully in English. "Hello, there!"
The guard came over near my window. He was a mean-looking young man with a heavy scar across his left jaw. He didn't return my smile.
"What is it you want here?" he demanded, looking into the car suspiciously. "You are trespassing on private property."
"Hey, really!" I said. "Don't use that on us. We're friends of Adrian Stavros."
He studied my face carefully. "I have not seen you before. Who are you?"
I gave him our made-up names. "We're from Rio" I said casually. "The Brazilian League." The League was an underworld group in Rio that rivaled Stavros with its smuggling activities. AXE had reason to believe that Stavros had tried to consolidate them into his group recently, with Stavros heading the whole thing.
"If you're from the League, what are you doing here?" the guard asked.
"Stavros invited us," I said. "And you're making me very impatient I'll mention that to Stavros."
He gave me a look. "Stavros is not here at the plantation. He is on a business trip."
"He said he might be. He told us to see Heinz Gruber."
My knowledge of Stavros' lieutenant's name impressed the man. He rubbed a hand across his chin thoughtfully. "All right, wait here."
He returned to the gate while we watched his every move. Under a small canopy, he picked up what looked like an army surplus walkie-talkie from a wooden table. He spoke into it for a couple of minutes, listened, and then put it back down and returned to the car.
"You may enter. Drive to the area just in front of the house and park. You will be met outside."
"Very well," I said.
The guard opened the wire gate. I took a long look at the gun under his arm. That might have to be reckoned with yet. He waved me through the gate, and I put the car in gear.
"Here we go," I said to Erika and Zach.
We drove through the gate, and it was closed behind us. Zach grinned as he watched the gate being locked. I drove along a dirt drive to the compound. It was quite a place, all archways, red tiles, and bougainvillea. I pulled to a stop in front of the sprawling adobe house, and we got out of the car just as four men came out. We put the car between us and the guard at the gate.
The men who confronted us were a rough-looking lot. Three of them, the ones who emerged first, wore khakis and each wore a gun openly on his hip. One was a stocky, dark-complexioned man who appeared to be Brazilian. The second was a tall, thin fellow with a young John Carradine look, and the third looked like an American hippy with long hair and a beard. I didn't like his face. The fourth man was dressed in an open white shirt and tailored trousers. He was a tall, well-built man with graying hair and a square, hard face. He had to be the ex-Nazi, Gruber.
The three underlings fanned out, so the
y pretty well flanked us. I was glad we had placed the car between ourselves and the guard at the gate who was about thirty yards away.
"Herr Gruber?" I motioned my head to the white-shirted man.
"That is correct," he answered haughtily in a thick accent. He wore a Luger like mine in a belt holster. "And what is this about seeing Adrian Stavros?"
Zach and the longhair were sizing each other up. The stocky Stavros man appeared to be itching to draw the gun on his hip, and the tall, slim fellow couldn't take his eyes off Erika.
"He invited us here," I answered casually. "We offered him a load of uncut heroin. A couple of our dealers are in trouble and can't handle it. Surely he mentioned it to you?"
Gruber studied me for a moment. "No," he said. "You are an American. I did not know there were any Americans working for the League."
"You live and learn," I said.
"And what are you?" he asked Erika.
"A Jew," she said flatly.
His eyes narrowed on her, and he grinned harshly. "Very interesting," he remarked, looking from Erika to Zach. "Well, perhaps we might deal. We will get out of the sun, ja?"
"That sounds like a good idea," I said. I hoped somehow to separate Gruber from the others once we were inside.
But that was not the way it was to be. Suddenly a fifth man emerged from the house; our eyes met, and we recognized each other immediately. It was Ubeda from the Apex Imports office.
"What is going on here?" he asked Gruber. "That is the man who came snooping around in town. I sent a man after him who did not come back."
Gruber's eyes narrowed on me as the longhaired fellow cautiously drew his revolver. "Ach, so," Gruber said to himself. His eyes flicked from my face to the tense ones of Erika and Zach, then back to mine. "Who are you really?"
I looked from Ubeda to Gruber. The other gunmen hadn't drawn their weapons yet. "I'm who I said I was. So are we all. Now, do you want to deal or not?"
"Why did he come to Apex posing as a legitimate importer?" Ubeda asked. "Does he still say he wants Japanese cameras?"
"No," Gruber said slowly. "Not exactly. You may come inside, Mr…."
"Johnson," I said.
"Mr. Johnson. But we must check first to see whether you are armed."
From the corner of my eye I could see the hard look Zach shot at me. He wasn't about to let these men disarm him, and I was of the same inclination. If they succeeded in doing so, none of us would probably ever leave the place alive. I gave Zach a glance that I hoped told him I was with him.
"All right, Herr Gruber," I said. I started to reach for Wilhelmina, my 9mm Luger.
"Ahh!" Gruber said, stopping me. "I will take it, Mr. Johnson."
That was the way I had hoped he would do it Just as he reached into my jacket, I grabbed him and twisted him around in a tight grip under his chin. Longhair aimed at my head, and Zach drew his.38. Longhair shifted his aim from me to Zach and fired just as Zach dropped into a crouch; the slug zinged off the BMW behind us. Zach's gun answered in a staccato roar and hit Longhair full in the chest, driving him back against a stucco column that supported an archway at the entrance of the building. He gaped widely for a brief moment and died before he hit the ground.
Then a lot of things happened simultaneously or in rapid succession. I yelled at Zach to hold his fire, but it was too late. He had set everything into violent motion. The stocky man and the tall one went for their guns, as did Erika. Ubeda turned and started running for the house, and Zach fired, hitting him in the spine. Ubeda yelled and fell on his face in the dust.
"Hold it or I'll kill Gruber," I threatened to the other gunmen. I had let Hugo, the stiletto, slip into my hand and now held it tight against Gruber's throat. I could hear a loud yell of excitement from the gate guard behind me.
The tall thin man stopped his draw, but the stocky one had his revolver already out and had Zach beat. Kneeling low beside the sedan, Erika was bringing the snub-nosed revolver from her purse. The stocky gunman fired and hit Zach in the chest. Zach spun around in a tight circle and hit hard against the back fender of the car.
Erika aimed and fired the Belgian snub-nose, and the stocky gunman grabbed at his abdomen and screamed. His revolver went off twice more into the dirt as he pitched sideways onto his shoulder to the ground.
Gruber gained confidence from all this and, while my attention was diverted, grabbed at my knife arm and managed to pry it away from his throat. In the same movement he kicked backwards at my left leg and connected on my calf and shin. I grunted and my hold on him weakened. Then he was sliding from my grasp, twisting the knife arm as he went Hugo slipped from me as we both fell to the ground beside the car.
Seeing all this, the tall man hit the ground as he drew his weapon. Erika fired at him, but the shot went wild. He returned the fire and dented metal on the car beside her shoulder. I saw that she was in trouble. I slugged Gruber and he fell on his back away from me. Grabbing the stiletto from the dirt behind us, I hurled it in an underhand motion toward the tall man as he aimed at Erika again. The stiletto hit him in the chest, thudding into him almost silently. His eyes went big and the gun went off and dug up dirt between us. He fell down, grabbing at the hilt of the knife.
I could hear the gate being opened behind us as Gruber's hands clawed at my face. I hit him hard again and heard bone snap in his jaw. My other fist rammed into his face and broke his nose. He fell unconscious underneath me.
"Look out!" Zach's weak voice came to us. I turned and saw that the shot had not killed him. He was struggling to his feet and looking toward the gate.
"Get down!" I ordered Erika, who was very near me beside the black sedan.
The guard aimed the submachine gun our way. Zach got up and pointed his weapon at the man, but the guard beat him. A fusillade of shots clattered from the automatic gun, digging up dirt beyond Zach and then hitting him in the chest before they began careening off the metal of the car. Erika and I kept low as Zach hit the dust on his back, dead.
I rolled over twice to the end of the car, to a position up under the front bumper, pulling out my Luger as I went. When I got there, the guard was just starting to rake back the other way with the gun. I fired three quick shots at him, bracing my gun hand with the other. The slugs from the Luger struck the fence in back of him, the guard's groin, and his chest, in that order. The automatic weapon blasted at the cobalt sky as he pitched backwards into the dust. Then, suddenly, there was silence in the compound.
I lay there getting my breath. In the jungle somewhere a bird shrieked its outrage at the noise we had made. I was covered with dust and dirt. I rose slowly and helped Erika to her feet. She was gazing at Zach bewilderedly; her face was white.
I turned to Gruber and saw that he was coming around. I bent down and slapped him a few times, and he gazed up at me drunkenly. He groaned. I stuck the Luger into his face. "How many men in the house guarding Minourkos?" I demanded.
He tried to speak but found it difficult with a dislocated jaw. "I… an't…"
I stuck the Luger up under his chin. "How many?"
Weakly he held up two fingers. I turned to Erika. "Stay here and watch him."
She nodded numbly.
I went to the entrance of the house. The wide, arched doorway was open. I stepped into a large entrance foyer just in time to run head-on into a dark-faced man with an automatic in his fist I fired my Luger, and it roared in the hall. The man smashed up against the wall beside him. He then fell in a cumbersome heap across a small table, demolishing it as he hit the floor.
The man had come from a long corridor to my left. I went down the hallway quickly but cautiously. I couldn't delay in finding Minourkos, or he would surely be dead when I finally did. It might be that they had already killed him.
The doors off the corridor, which I presumed were bedrooms, were all open except one at the end. I heard a small sound inside as I stopped in front of it. Taking a deep breath, I stepped back and kicked the door savagely. It crashed inward, and
I went through the opening.
A very skinny, ugly man stood over Minourkos, who was bound to a straight-back chair, aiming a gun at his head. His finger on the trigger, he whirled to face me when the door crashed open. He fired first, but wildly, and the slug chewed up wood in the door casing beside me. I fired the Luger and hit him in the chest. He spun off his feet and dropped to the floor. But he hadn't lost his gun. He aimed at me again. I beat him that time and hit him in the face, the slug blowing the side of his head away.
Minourkos stared at his dead captor with a dazed expression as I holstered my Luger. Slowly he looked over at me.
"Nikkor Minourkos?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered quietly. "Who are…"
"We have come to free you, Mr. Minourkos," I said.
He let out a shaky breath. "Thank God. He was going to…"
"I know." I untied him and he rose from the chair, rubbing his wrists.
"Are you all right?" I asked, concerned.
"Yes, I will be fine." He shook his head and muttered something in Greek. "I can't believe it is really over."
"Well, most of it is."
I was starting to ask him to tell his story when I heard the shot from the compound. I remembered Erika out there with the German. I turned and rushed into the hall. "Erika!"
In a moment she answered me. "I'm all right" Before I could move toward the front foyer, she suddenly rounded the corner and walked casually toward me, stuffing the Belgian revolver into her purse.
"What the hell happened?" I asked.
"Gruber met an untimely demise." Her eyes avoided mine.
"You shot him?" I asked, almost unbelievably.
"He started mumbling with his dislocated jaw. When I asked him what he was saying, he called me a dirty Jew and said I should have been with the others he saw die at Dachau. He did not think Jews should be allowed to live in the same world with people like himself. So I sent him to another world. I hope it is warm enough for him down there."
Finally the green eyes looked up into mine, defiantly, daring me to say something. I remembered that relatives of her parents had been put to death by the Nazis at Buchenwald. Somehow I could think of nothing to say in defense of Heinz Gruber.