The Death Strain

by Nick Carter

  "They've got to have a reason for suddenly acting as though the conference was…" I let the sentence hang there, unfinished, and I saw Hawk's eyes darken as they met mine.

  "You were going to say 'contaminated, " he said very slowly. "No." He was trying unsuccessfully to put conviction into his words. "No, it couldn't be."

  "It not only could be, it is," I said, rising from the chair, cold excitement seizing me. All the missing little pieces were suddenly falling into place.

  "You think the virus is intended for use against the World Leadership Conference," Hawk said flatly.

  "That's got to be it," I said. "It explains everything — Chung Li's attempt to stop me from returning to Carlsbad. It wasn't that he was afraid Carlsbad might reveal where he'd hidden the X–V77. He was afraid Carlsbad would tell what the plan was."

  "You think the Chinese Reds are working with Carlsbad's large Japanese?" Hawk asked.

  "No, I don't think that," I replied. "But they saw a golden opportunity unfold before their eyes and decided to take advantage of it. Somehow, before the fight at the farmhouse, they found out Carlsbad's plan. Maybe they heard him and the others going over it when they sneaked up on them. Then in the fight, Carlsbad was shot in the head and the others escaped. Chung Li knew they'd carry on to fulfill the plan. He had his smooth little story all ready for me when I arrived. Ostrov swallowed it without blinking an eye."

  "I did too," Hawk said quietly.

  "It was reasonable," I answered.

  "They kill every important person in a position of leadership in the world," Hawk said. "With one neat blow, as they're all together at the Conference."

  "Except for the Red Chinese," I reminded him. "They won't be there. Their men will be safe and sound. When the X–V77 has finally killed off every other leader, there will be a world-wide vacuum of gargantuan proportions, a vacuum in which they could move any way they wanted to."

  "You've got to call off the conference before it opens tomorrow morning," I said.

  Hawk looked at me as though I'd taken leave of my senses. "Impossible!" he snapped. "It can't be turned off now. Certainly not because we've got ourselves a theory, no matter how good it is. Can you see us convincing all those people of this fantastic thing? And can you see what it would bring down on America's head? Besides, the sheer mechanics make calling it off impossible. It's all gone too far to stop."

  He was right of course, and I got a sudden chill. As I listened to Hawk's flat, monotone voice, I wondered if he really believed what he was saying. Was he trying to reassure me or himself?

  "They can t pull it off, you know, even if they show up to try," he said. 'The United Nations grounds and the surrounding area is going to see the greatest concentration of security forces ever assembled in one spot"

  He opened his attaché case and drew out a map of the United Nations area. "The CIA is handling security clearance for everyone to be admitted and all inside protection. They are assisted by the United Nations internal security staff. They have been augmented by thoroughly screened private police agencies. The FBI and Treasury agents are handling security inside the Assembly Hall itself. At the seven entrances to the Assembly Hall we will have our men stationed, scanning every person who enters, watching for anyone who might try to get inside with forged clearance. Certainly they'd spot someone the size of Carlsbad's Japanese. They'd get his two normal-size pals, too. You know how eagle-eyed our boys are, Nick."

  I nodded. That much was true enough, but the uneasy, edgy feeling I'd carried inside me for the last few days had returned again. Hawk drew a pencil line around the entire eighteen acres of the UN property.

  "Outside, the New York Police have saturated the entire area," he said. "They've drawn extra men from every borough. All leaves have been cancelled. First Avenue, Forty-Second Street and Forty-Eighth Street are all crawling with uniformed and plain clothes police. Along the East River, police boats will patrol, and they will be assisted by two Coast Guard patrol boats. It's tight, Nick, covered at every possible spot. They couldn't get close enough to open that vial in the Assembly Hall if they shot it out of a rocket.

  "You still don't like it, eh, Nick?" Hawk commented. "Frankly, I don't think they'll show and if they do, they'll see they can't possibly get through."

  "They'll show," I murmured. "They've got to, even if it's only to fail. This is their chance, their only chance,"

  "All right, " Hawk said, his lips grim. It's still your baby. I won't assign you anywhere. You play it any way you like. Here are your inner security clearance papers. They'll let you go anywhere in the United Nations area."

  "Any chance Carlsbad might talk?" I asked, taking the small card and badge.

  Hawk shook his head. "He's sinking. Pulse is weaker and his heartbeat has slowed."

  "Damn! What time does the conference begin tomorrow?"

  "At exactly ten A.M. the Pope will open the conference with a short prayer," he said. "The President of the United States will follow, welcoming the guests."

  Hawk walked away. I spied a phone in one of the rooms and put in a call to my place. It rang only once and Rita's voice answered, excitement in her tone.

  "Where are you?" she said instantly. "At the airport?"

  "I'm still in New York," I said. Even across the telephone wire I could feel her freeze.

  "I didn't know it took so long to conduct business," she said.

  I chuckled. "It doesn't always, but this time I had a lot to do. Ill be back tomorrow."

  "I'll wait," she said, her voice suddenly soft. "A lot longer if I have to. Be careful, Nick."

  I hung up and knew I hadn't called just to tell her that. I'd needed to speak to her, a strange, sudden kind of need, almost a premonition that maybe I'd never have another chance. I went back to the little room and lay down on the narrow bed, hardly more than a cot. The time for thinking, for wondering, for worrying, was over. The time for action was at hand.

  I forced my eyes to close and made' myself sleep, putting aside all thoughts except the need for rest. I'd learned the technique many years ago. It worked for a few hours.

  * * *

  I woke when dawn beckoned the day and dressed quickly. The city was a sleeping giant still covered with a gray and grimy blanket. I walked slowly across First Avenue toward the United Nations buildings.

  I hadn't taken one step onto the avenue when six of New York's finest converged on me. I had to show my clearance pass five more times before I finally got inside the main building. It was good security all right, I had to admit, and maybe Hawk was right. But I kept remembering what tight security they had at the Cumberland plant where it all started.

  I glanced at my watch. Six o'clock. In four hours the world would take the first step in a march toward true international cooperation — or an enemy against which there was no defense would strike down its leaders. I began a slow walk of the entire United Nations area, starting inside its walls and moving up from floor to floor.

  I was still looking, still checking, still trying to find some hole as the building came alive with more and more people — the regular UN delegates, the special delegates, the important special guests, hordes and hordes of newspaper and television men, all with clearances, all carefully screened. At the seven entrances to the Assembly Hall I saw our men intermingled with the police and the UN guards, their eyes flicking from face to face, boring into every person that approached them. I saw Hawk at one side, standing next to a police captain, and I went over.

  "Who has clearance to come in here this morning?" I asked. The police captain looked at a long list in his hand.

  "Besides the newspeople, guests and delegates, only the hand-picked and screened employees of the banquet outfit that supplies the UN with tablecloths, napkins and equipment for these huge dinners. One truck, with the men in it, will bring in the needed supplies for the affair."

  "And the men have been cleared and screened, you say," I repeated.

  "Thoroughly," the captain said. "Their
passes carry their photos on them, too."

  "Everyone's pass at Cumberland carried a photo, too," I muttered.

  Hawk's eves flickered. "And no outsider cracked Cumberland, Nick," he said quietly. "It was Carlsbad, remember, a trusted inside person."

  I nodded and sauntered off. A trusted inside person. Could Carlsbad have someone here, on the inside, working with him? Could the strain have been transferred to that person? Then all the security in the world would make no difference. It was a possibility but one I had to discard. To accept it would have meant going home and forgetting about everything. There was no possible way to check out everyone who'd already been cleared.

  I glanced at my watch. Nine o'clock. I saw an empty phone booth and slipped inside. I called Walter Reed Hospital and asked about Carlsbad. He was still in a coma and his heartbeat was continuing to weaken. I hung up the phone and walked down the staircase, away from the excited, humming noise of the throng. I should have felt reassured. I hadn't come up with anything. Security was tremendous.

  I paused on the main floor and watched as the President of the United States arrived, surrounded by Secret Service men, the New York police and UN guards. I glanced across the main entranceway and saw more uniforms than anything else. Some men were stationed at posts, others moved back and forth, circulating through the crowd. Her Majesty, the Queen of England, entered the building, a gracious, poised figure. The Russians were next, impassive, their smiles fixed. Once again I saw a huge detail of police and security guards with them.

  Maybe Hawk had been right after all. What was it he had said, I asked myself. They couldn't get close enough to open that vial in the Assembly Hall if they shot it out of a rocket. The remark hung in my mind, waiting for me to examine it again. And then, suddenly, I froze on the spot, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Maybe they didn't need to get into the hall itself, nor did they need a rocket. All they needed was something equally effective. I thought of what I'd been told about the properties of the X–V77. Unlike some strains which require personal contact, it was one hundred percent effective airborne. All Carlsbad's men had to do was free it in the Assembly Hall.

  My watch said nine thirty-five. I turned and raced down the stairs, past the first basement with its rows of files and offices, past the second one and down into the third where long rows of pipes lined the narrow corridors. I looked down the longest hallway and saw a maintenance man at the far end. I called to him and ran. He waited, watching me race toward him.

  VIII

  I didn't know it then, of course, but at that moment the light turned red on the corner of Third Avenue and Fifty-first Street. The closed panel truck of the Superior Banquet Supply Company came to a halt. The two men in the cab watched a parade of miniskirts cross the intersection. When the doors of their truck were yanked open, they didn't have time to do more than open their mouths before they were killed.

  One bullet each was fired from guns equipped with silencers. Two men, both Orientals, leaped into the truck, shoved the bodies aside and started off as the light became green. They made a fast turn into Third Avenue and then another at the next corner where they pulled up before a boarded-up building slated for demolition. A huge man, moving surprisingly quickly for his size, opened the rear of the truck and squeezed inside.

  Meanwhile, the other two opened the door between the driver's section and the rear of the vehicle. They pushed the two dead men into the back and took their identification cards from them. Slipping the photos out of the plastic cover, they replaced them with photos of themselves. It all took six minutes, including the waiting time at the light. The Superior Banquet Supply Company truck started off again for the United Nations.

  They were halted at the first police line, showed their clearance cards and were passed through. They were stopped twice more and each time the police checked the photos against the occupants of the truck and passed them on.

  They drove slowly to the side service entrance of the Assembly Building and got out. A small metal ramp was lowered at the back of the truck and they wheeled a huge, closed box down it. The box contained a full supply of fresh linens, tablecloths, dish towels and other banquet supplies. And one thing more. They left the truck and wheeled the huge box into the United Nations, taking the ramp that led down to the basement.

  Just before all this happened I had reached the maintenance man and demanded to see his clearance card. He showed it to me and it was in order.

  "Where is the ventilation system leading to the Assembly Hall?" I asked him. "It's got to be down here someplace."

  "End of this corridor, turn right," he said. "You'll see the ducts. They're screened, four of them, two over and two under. Why, something wrong up there?"

  "Not yet," I said, racing down the corridor. "Not yet." I took the corner in a skid and raced down the next corridor. The ducts were there, the screens in place, and I peered at the small metal sign beneath them.

  "Assembly Hall Vent System," it read. "Blower Controls in Boiler Room 3."

  I put my ear to the screens and heard the sound of air being forced upwards. Two of the ducts carried fresh air up and two carried circulated air back down. It was the perfect place. All they had to do was open the vial into the duct and in seconds the deadly chemical would be blown into the Assembly Hall.

  I walked to the end of the corridor. There was a small hallway that led to a fire exit. I tried it. The door was locked from the outside but opened from the hallway. I walked back, past rows of pipes level with my head, and turned the corner which led to the main corridor. I went back to where I'd met the maintenance man. There were no doorways or other corridors. Anyone reaching the ducts would have to pass this way. The maintenance man had gone and I took up a position at the corner.

  I glanced at my watch. Nine fifty-five. In the green, gold and blue Assembly Hall, the World Leadership Conference was about to begin. Maybe it will go off without trouble, I muttered to myself.

  I heard the sound just about that time. I looked up to see two men pushing a big closed wooden box on wheels. They moved down the corridor toward me and I read the stenciled letters on the side of the wheeled box: Superior Banquet Supplies.

  "Hold it," I said as they reached me. "Let's see your clearance cards." The two men handed me their cards. The photos matched them. I recalled what the police captain had said about the outfit that would bring the banquet supplies.

  "Go ahead," I said. They nodded and continued to push their huge, wheeled box down the hallway. I had turned away to keep my eye on the other end of the corridor when suddenly I realized something. There wasn't a damn reason for banquet supplies to be down here. There wasn't even a laundry room in this area.

  I whirled just as one of the men fired, and I heard the dull, muffled sound of the silencer. I'd have been dead, shot through the back, it I hadn't whirled. As it was, the shot hit Wilhelmina in her shoulder holster under my jacket. The force of it knocked me backwards and hurt like hell as it drove the heavy Luger into my ribs. He fired again as I was falling and the shot cut into my temple and I felt the sharp, burning pain. I lay there feeling the waves of darkness trying to close in on me and the warm trickle of blood running down my temple. They figured they'd done it and pushed on.

  I lay there, squeezing my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, fighting the darkness again. It was the shot that'd creased my temple that was doing the damage. I rose up on one elbow, saw the gray-white corridor spin and shook my head. It stopped spinning and I got to my feet. I took out Wilhelmina. The slug had struck the trigger and the release latch and twisted and jammed both. Wilhelmina would do no shooting for now.

  I moved forward quickly on the balls of my feet. There'd be damned little place to hide in these barren corridors and they'd already rounded the corner. I still had those fancy socks in my pocket that Stewart had given me. But if I lit them and blew the three of them up, the X–V77 would go with them, blown right into the vent system by the explosion. And so I had a fancy weapon I couldn't
use and a gun I couldn't shoot And time had run out.

  A towering rage swept over me. They wouldn't empty that damned vial into the duct. Not now, not after all this. Chung Li wouldn't sit back and enjoy the triumph of his deceitful cleverness. I turned on the speed and when I hit the corner and careened around it like a car on two wheels, one of them had just removed the screen from one of the intake ducts. Carlsbad's huge Japanese buddy was emerging from inside the big wooden box, the vial in his hands; a third man was helping him out.

  I had Wilhelmina in one hand and Hugo in the other. As I slammed into the side of the wall, I flung the stiletto at the one with the duct screen still in his hands. The blade imbedded itself in his temple. He stiffened and then crumpled and the screen fell on top of him. Wilhelmina flew through the air and caught the second bastard right in the middle of his forehead. He fell backwards as blood spewed out of a bad gash. The giant Japanese froze for an instant, one foot still in the wooden box. I started for him and he came to meet me. Just as I rushed, he threw the vial at the open vent duct. Remembering my football days in college, I twisted, reversed and leaped upwards and backwards at once.

  I felt my fingers close around the vial as it flew through the air and I got a grip on it as I fell, holding it out from me. My head hit the concrete of the floor and I saw stars for an instant. The' Japanese slammed a shoe into my chest. I felt my breath catch on fire from the pain but I rolled away, still clutching the vial over my head. I couldn't let him get his huge hands on that. He was on top of me, all three hundred and twenty-five pounds of him, reaching out for the vial. My hand was still over my head. I opened it, let the vial roll onto the floor and with my fingers sent it skittering across the corridor.

  The Japanese cursed and I felt his weight come off me as he started to dive after the vial. I wrapped both arms around one oak tree of a leg and twisted. He fell heavily to one knee as a grunt of pain escaped him. I hit him with my shoulder and he dropped to one side. He rolled away and reached out for the vial as it lay within reach against the other wall.