by Nick Carter
My foot got there first, coming down with all my might on his fingers. He screamed in pain and pulled his hand back automatically. I got one toe against the vial and sent it rolling farther down the corridor, hoping to hell it wouldn't break. The giant was on his feet, rushing at me. I knew better than to try to meet this human locomotive head on. I twisted and got only part of his rush. It was enough to knock me into the wall so hard I felt my bones shudder. He had a split second to decide whether to go after me or the vial. True to his mission, he went for the vial. As he rushed past me, I stuck out a foot and he stumbled to the floor and the building shook. I slammed another foot into his jaw and he rolled over and blinked. He saw that he'd have to take me out before he got the vial. I let him get to one knee and swung, hitting him on the point of the jaw with a perfect blow. His eyes crossed and he fell backwards but only for a moment It would have killed some men and taken out most others. This guy, though, was getting to his feet once more.
But some of the starch had been taken out of him. I swung again and opened a two-inch gash over his right eye with a sharp, slicing blow. I followed with a right and he turned his head in time to avoid taking it on the jaw. It caught his wide, flat cheekbone and I felt it break. He put his head down and leaped forward. I tried to dodge but didn't make it. His huge arms circled my body and I felt the grizzly-bear strength of the man at once. His head down, he pressed himself against my chest, pulling me forwards at the waist. I felt my ribs about to go. My arms were pinned to my sides and I couldn't break his hold.
I brought my knee up hard and fast, slamming it up into his groin. I felt him gasp in pain and I was flung across the corridor into the wall. I bounced off it and hit the floor. The pain had taken its toll but it had also sent him into a wild fury. He dived and came down on me. A building falling on me couldn't have felt much worse. My breath left me in one huge rush and pain shot up into every part of my body. He got up but I was seeing through a curtain of grayness, trying to find some breath. I felt his huge hands grab my neck and I was lifted like a child and slammed into the wall once again. This time the grayness turned black and I was only barely conscious as I hit the floor.
I shook my head, acting out of automatic reflexes and experience welling up from the past. I drew a deep breath and shook my head again. The curtain lifted. It had only been a second or two. But the big man had turned to the vial. As I focused, I saw him pick it up and run toward the open vent with it, coming toward me. I was within arm's length of the dead man with Hugo sticking out of his temple. I reached out, grabbed the stiletto, pulled it free and hurled it from a prone position as the gigantic Oriental was less than a step from the duct.
It struck him on the left side and I saw it go deeply into the huge expanse of flesh. He gasped, stopped and staggered. His face contorted in pain, he reached his left hand up and pulled the stiletto free. It took but a second, but a second was all I needed. I was on my feet and diving for him, As he yanked the blade out of his body, I connected with a right. He staggered back and I grabbed the vial out of his hand. I ducked his arm as it swung around to seize me and brought up a sharp uppercut. Once again he staggered backwards.
I reached down and scooped up Hugo. He came forward and I crouched, the vial in one hand, Hugo in the other. He dove for the vial. I brought the stiletto up in a short arc and sliced it across his throat. A red line spurted. He got one hand up to his throat, half-turned toward me, reached up for me and fell to one knee. He started to get up, then fell sideways, and I stumbled back against the wall.
My whole body was shaking and throbbing and I was heaving in deep drafts of air. I looked at the slender vial in my hand, closed my fingers tighter around it and leaned against the wall for a long moment. Then, still using the wall for support, I slowly started back along the corridor. I walked up the stairs carefully.
I paused as I reached the main floor, and walked out into the lobby, bloodstained, bruised, battered. The cops converged on me but I held the vial aloft.
"Easy does it, fellas," I said. I looked up at the big clock against the opposite wall. It said four minutes past ten. The Pope's opening prayer had just ended. And Carlsbad had just died in Walter Reed Hospital. Except I didn't know about Carlsbad then.
"Get me Hawk, AXE, outside the Assembly Hall," I said with an effort, leaning back against the wall and suddenly feeling very tired. When Hawk came down he took one look at the vial in my hand and his lips tightened. I handed it to him.
"They almost got it into the air conditioning ducts. Tell them out in Cumberland not to lose it again," I said.
"I'll do that," he said quietly. "You want to fill me in now?"
"Tomorrow," I said. "I'm going to catch the plane back to Washington."
"Wash up first," he said. "Neatness is part of being an AXE agent." I stared at him and saw a faint twinkle in his eyes. "I'm glad you don't take my word for things," he added. I grunted. It was his way of handing out a compliment.
I walked out of the building and looked back at the symbol of world cooperation. I was drained of all emotion, like a man who had looked over the edge of hell. Only two people knew how close world cooperation had been to world disaster. But now I permitted a glint of triumph to shine in my eyes. In Peking, Chung Li would know soon that somehow, someplace, his cleverness had failed and without actually being sure, he'd know I'd played a part in that failure. We'd meet again, he and I, in one way or another.
I washed up in the brownstone we were using during the conference and then caught the shuttle flight to Washington.
Rita was out when I got to my place and I'd fixed bourbons for us when she returned carrying groceries. She dropped the bags and flew into my arms. Her lips were sweet and warm and a reminder of all the good things. I told her what had happened and she told me about her uncle's death. As we started on a second round of drinks, she gave me a deep, thoughtful glance.
"And what happens to X–V77 now?" she asked.
"It goes back to Cumberland."
"And what happens to my uncle's questions?" she said. "They're still right, you know. They're still unanswered. Do we keep on creating and stockpiling bacteria for which we have no defense? Do we continue to risk killing millions of people?"
"I don't answer questions," I said. "I just put out fires. I can't answer whether or not we should make matches that start fires."
"Does it have to be that way?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her. "It does for me. Those answers you want aren't for me to give."
"I guess not," she said. She leaned forward and her lips found mind. My thumb caressed the small, soft tips of her breasts. This was the kind of fire I looked forward to putting out.