by Dean Ing
"The complaint has been made before," Hamp told him, dialing another double brandy. "But I can still operate."
"And I've heard that story before," the younger man told him in sarcasm. "Sometimes from drivers who explain that they can drive better when they have a couple of drinks in them. Famous last words before they plow into a tree. You're on the death list of the most dangerous people in the world and here you are getting drenched. Hell, even I could take you and, as you so nicely explained, I'm inexperienced."
"Don't try it," Hamp said mildly, taking a pull at the double brandy. "But now we get to the nitty-gritty. What were you doing at the Synthesis meeting if you're not really interested in doing chores for the Graf?"
"I had to go through the motions," Frank said, all fed up with the conversation. "I had to look as though I was trying to get to you. For all I know, some of Peter Windsor's other people were there."
"They were," Hamp told him. "What the hell did you mink you were going to do to put over your act?''
"I don't know," the other said. "I was trying to play it by ear, hoping something would come up that would enable me to report back, admitting failure but for some good reason. I have to stay in the game, supposedly in the Graf's good graces, until I can find out what's going on. I haven't the vaguest idea, so far, what kind of hold he has on my father's fortune."
Hamp thought about it some more. He said finally, "The reason the Graf was willing to send you after me was that he wanted to get something to hold over you. Some lever that would help him persuade you to do whatever has to be done to get his hands on your father's fortune. If you'd killed me, as ordered, then he'd have had his lever." He knocked back the remaining brandy in one gulp and added, "I just dropped in to let you know I was onto you and to warn you to stay off my back. So now I'll… what the hell was that?"
"What was what?"
"That news commentator. What did he say?"
"I haven't been listening."
"Play it back. The last couple of minutes."
"All right." Frank shrugged, pressed the replay buttons, and turned up the volume.
He missed the first sentence or so. The commentator was saying, "… the famous rocket-set leader, of recent years turned recluse. Indications are, his sports car left the road, either forced off as suggested by the French authorities, or out of control as a result of overindulgence in alcohol or narcotics at a party he had just left. Executives of the far-flung Auburn empire have thus far issued no statement. Wall Street in the City, London, and the Common Europe Bourse are expected to react heavily in the morning."
Horace Hampton, staring unseeingly, staggered to his feet and headed for the autobar. He demanded of the other, "Play that back again, from the beginning."
Frank Pinell, his expression denoting complete lack of comprehension, obeyed.
The commentator said, "Flash from the French Riviera. The multibillionaire playboy of this century, Jeremiah Auburn, died today in a car accident near Nice when…"
"Switch it off," Hamp yelled.
Frank obeyed, staring blankly.
The black sank back into his chair. He swallowed the drink in one gulp. "Jim," he said, meaninglessly, so far as the other was concerned.
"What the hell's the matter?" Frank said.
"Shut up." The black sat there, staring unseeingly. "Jim," he muttered. "Oh, hell, Jim. Why was I such an asshole? I laid you wide open to that murderous bastard Windsor."
"What the devil are you talking about?" Frank said.
"Shut up."
Frank Pinell twisted his mouth in resignation and got up to get himself another beer. He hadn't the vaguest idea what had floored his visitor. Evidently, some bigshot playboy had a traffic accident in southern France. So what? He didn't follow the social news by any means but he had vaguely heard of Jeremiah Auburn, one of those upper-class characters who would spend five thousand on a bottle of wine laid down during the time of DeGaulle. Frank had never paid more than five dollars in his life for a bottle of wine, and then he was splurging.
At long last Hamp shook his head, as though in despair, and got up and went over to the room's small desk. He sat down in front of the phone screen and deactivated the video before dialing.
The face that faded in on the screen looked as though it had recently received a great shock.
Hamp said, "Barry, this is Auburn."
The eyes widened in absolute disbelief. "But… but… on the news I just…"
"I know, I know. So did I. A case of mistaken identity, undoubtedly. Now, this is what I want you to do: refuse any comment to the news media whatsoever. For the time being, above all, don't let it get out that I am still alive. To nobody, understand?"
"Well, yes sir." And then, a touch of suspicion there. "How do I know this is really you?"
"Damn it, you know my voice. Besides, who else has access to this phone number?"
"I… yes, sir." There was relief in the tone now.
"Wizard. Now, I want you to send Captain Wayland and the plane to pick up two men here at the Chicago North Side Airport. He is to fly them to Europe and the crew is to take their orders as though they were my own. The men's names are Horace Hampton and Franklin Pinell. They will make only one stop, in New York. Mr. Hampton will leave the aircraft just long enough to go into the city and acquire some, uh, equipment at my headquarters there. Have a limousine waiting for him at the airport. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir. A Mr. Hampton and a Mr. Pinell."
"That's all, Barry. I'll get in touch with you shortly. Meanwhile, mum's the word." He flicked off the phone and turned back to Frank. "Pack your luggage," he said.
The other had been completely flabbergasted by the phone talk. He hadn't any idea whatever of what had gone on. He said, "Why?"
Hamp went back to the bar and dialed another drink. He said, "We're going to Liechtenstein to see the Graf and my old chum-pal Peter Windsor."
The younger man ogled him. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Probably, but your orders were to get Horace Hampton. Wizard; you've got him. He's going back to the Wolfschloss with you." The autobar delivered a full liter of French cognac. Hamp took the top off and applied the bottle directly to his mouth. He then retopped it and handed it to Frank. "Put this in your bag. I won't be taking any luggage."
Frank was still gaping at him. "Bringing you back to the Wolfschloss! Now I know you're completely around the bend, Hampton. That place is a fort. You can't get in carrying any kind of a weapon and once in there's no way of getting out. The Graf will have you by the balls. And probably me as well."
Hamp shook his head. "No. Your story is that I had something interesting to tell you and wanted to relay it to Brandenburg himself. And I'll have the most powerful weapon in the world to take into that fort."
"What? I tell you, they search you all ways from Tuesday, both electronically and physically."
"My weapon comes in a checkbook. Come on, let's get out of here. Wayland will be at the airport by the time we arrive."
The pilot checked their identities with care, obviously somewhat taken aback by this assignment. However, there was nothing to fault them. He handed back the International Credit Cards, saying with a frown to Hamp, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
"I doubt it," Hamp said laconically. "I've never been there."
"Yes, sir," Wayland said, touching the visor of his cap in an informal salute. "What are your orders, aside from the stop-over in New York?"
"Fly to the airport nearest to Vaduz, in Liechtenstein."
"Yes, sir. That'll probably be in Austria."
"And while we're on the way, call ahead and have a vehicle waiting for us, with any clearance that might be required to enter Liechtenstein."
"Yes, sir. I'll check that out. Gentlemen, shall we go aboard?"
To Frank Pinell's absolute surprise, the black seemed to drink himself sober on the flight across the Atlantic. The bar on the huge aircraft was more elaborate than any Frank had seen anywh
ere and was presided over by a uniformed bartender and two stewards to serve. Hamp kept them earning their pay.
Frank found himself a stateroom and slept almost all of the way to Austria. He had a suspicion that he was going to need all the rest he could get. He didn't like the prospects for the morrow. When he rejoined his companion, it was to find him sitting in the same chair in the main lounge. Whether or not he had gotten any sleep at all, Frank couldn't tell. If anything, he looked less under the influence of the liquor he had been drinking than he had back in the room at the Drake. There was a new shift of bartender and waiters waiting on him.
Even as Frank seated himself, the chief steward entered and said respectfully, "We shall be landing within the hour, gentlemen."
Hamp looked down at himself. "I suppose I ought to have a change of clothing," he said. He was dressed in a cheap suit, just above prole quality.
The chief steward said, "But, sir, we didn't pick up any luggage for you. The other gentleman, yes. But you came aboard without any bags at all."
The black came to his feet. He said sourly, "I suspect that Mr. Auburn's things will fit me."
The steward goggled. "Mr. Auburn's things?"
Hamp eyed him. "Weren't your orders to take my instructions as though they were those of your employer himself?"
"Why… yes, sir."
"Wizard. I'll go and check out his clothes." Hamp started for the corridor which led down to the aircraft's staterooms.
The chief steward, still looking distressed, called after him, "The master suite is at the far end of…"
"Yeah, yeah," Hamp muttered.
At Feldkirch it was found that there were no difficulties involved in driving the sports hover-car that was waiting to take them into the tiny principality. They took off, Frank driving, Hamp next to him with brandy bottle in hand, taking an occasional nip from it.
When they reached Vaduz and began driving out the road to the Wolfschloss which loomed before them on the mountain top, Hamp said, "You'd better call ahead and tell them we're coming. From what I've heard about this place, you run a chance of getting your ass shot off if you approach unannounced."
"Don't you know it," Frank told him, bringing out his transceiver. He went through the routine of dialing the special number Peter Windsor had given him.
When the Englishman's easygoing face appeared on the tiny screen, it was to express surprise. "Frank!" he said. "I say, this isn't an overseas call. Where are you?"
"Coming up on the schloss," Frank told him.
"Then… well, you completed your mission?"
"In a way," Frank said. "I've got Hampton with me."
That made Peter Windsor blink.
Frank redirected the transceiver so that the face of Hamp was shown to Windsor. He said dryly, "Peter Windsor, meet Horace Hampton." And then, before either of the others could speak, "I'm coming down the road toward the cable car terminal, Peter. Do you want to clear me through?"
"Of course, dear boy. Come immediately to my office in the keep. Be seeing you, old chap. Cheers." His face faded, still expressing bewilderment.
"First hurdle," Hamp muttered. He put the half-empty bottle in the glove compartment. "Reserve supply," he said. "We might need it later."
"If there is a later," Frank said glumly. They were approaching the first roadblock, a concrete pillbox with three armed men before it. Frank began to pull up but they smiled and waved him on.
Hamp said, "This inner circle you mentioned that you're now being admitted to: who's in it besides the Graf and Windsor?"
"The only one I've met, if there are any others, is Margit Krebs, the Graf's secretary and data bank."
Hamp looked over at him.
Frank said, "She's got complete recall and keeps most of his secrets in her head."
"Nobody else is in this inner circle?"
"Not that I know of. When they're having a conference, the butler, Sepp, is sometimes around and they don't seem to care. He told me my father once saved his life—and warned me about all three of them."
"Sounds like quite a chummy crew," Hamp said. "How long before we start talking to the Graf?"
"If they see us right on through, possibly twenty minutes or so."
"Wizard," the black said and reached into his jacket. He brought forth a container which looked something like a cigarette case, opened it, and took out a hypodermic while Frank looked at him in dismay. Wordlessly, Hamp rolled up his left sleeve and expertly took the contents of the hypodermic into his arm. He then threw the syringe out the window.
Frank said bitterly, "Fer chrissakes, Hampton, isn't all that guzzle enough?"
"Thanks for reminding me," the other told him and opened the glove compartment for a pull at the bottle there.
They pulled up before the cable car terminal and got out of the vehicle, met immediately by a smiling officer.
He saluted and said, "Welcome back to the Wolfschloss, Mr. Pinell. I'm Lieutenant Lugos. Mr. Windsor has instructed me to see you to the donjon.'' He looked Hamp up and down.
Frank said, "This is Mr. Hampton. My luggage is in the back. There's a gun in it."
"Yes, sir. We'll take care of it." The lieutenant turned and led the way.
Horace Hampton seemed only mildly interested in the routine of being admitted to the Wolfschloss, the identity checks, the searches, the cable car ride. And didn't even seem particularly interested when they entered the enceinte in the direction of the towering keep.
Lieutenant Lugos was walking ahead and Frank said, from the side of his mouth, "You act as though you've been here before."
The other shook his head. "No, but I had some of my agents check it out once. They got good video sequences."
"Even inside the keep?"
"On the lower floors. Not up in the living quarters of the Graf. One tried and didn't make it."
The younger man stared, "What happened to him?"
"Peter Windsor happened to him. He was caught, tortured, put under scopolamine and, of course, spilled his guts."
"How do you know?"
"Windsor dropped a hint to me the next time I saw him. Happily, the others had gotten away before the captured one could inform on them. Our chum-pal, Peter, evidently was more amused by my curiosity than anything else. I suppose the Wolfschloss has been infiltrated before."
They had no more difficulty in entering the donjon than they'd had at the cable car terminal. Five minutes after Lieutenant Lugos surrendered them to the guard at the keep's massive door, they had entered the office of Peter Windsor.
The Graf's right-hand man was, characteristically, lounging in well-worn sports clothes behind his desk, his feet up on its surface. He grinned affably and said as he stood, "I say, Pinell, you're full of surprises." He looked at Hamp and frowned slightly. "Haven't I seen you before, somewhere?"
"People keep asking me that," Hamp said. "I must look like some celebrity."
Peter Windsor shrugged. "No point in mucking around, Hampton. What was your idea in coming here? Doesn't make much sense, really."
"I thought I'd explain that directly to the Graf," Hamp told him. His eyes went around the room, in curiosity, not missing the submachine gun on the wall.
"I dare say that's a good idea," Windsor said, lazily coming to his feet. "Come along, you chaps, Lothar is expecting us."
He led the way down the winding corridor to the Grafs office.
When they entered the spacious office of Lothar von Brandenburg, it was to find the Graf and Margit Krebs seated in the same chairs as during Frank's original interview. To top it, after offhanded introductions, during which no one made any pretense of desire to shake hands, Peter Windsor slumped into the chair he had utilized on the first occasion Frank had met the inner circle. Frank and Hamp sat too, on the same couch but at opposite ends.
For a few moments all was silent as Hamp took in the three of them and they returned the compliment.
The Graf said finally, "To be candid, this confrontation surprises me. I
haven't the vaguest idea what you had in mind, Franklin." He turned smoky, expressionless eyes to the black. "Nor you, sir. Will one of you explain?" He looked back at Frank and added, "Not, of course, that I distrust your judgment and discretion, my boy."
"Of course not," Peter said dryly.
Hamp said, "I came to make a deal."
The gray-flecked, uncanny irises turned back to him. "Indeed? Please develop it. I am always interested in deals."
"Wizard," Hamp said. His dark eyes took in the short elderly mercenary and they were almost as unreadable as the old man's. "Brandenburg," he went on finally, "you've got a tiger by the tail. You've built up an empire and now you can't abdicate. You're just on the verge of being dead broke and you can't get out from under. The upkeep on this pile of rock alone must be astronomical and that's not counting your other establishments scattered around the world, and it doesn't count the compensations and pensions you're under obligation to keep up. One of these days, you're going to miss a payroll. When you do—well, the people on your payroll are the most dangerous killers in the world."
"What rot," Peter drawled.
"Silence, Peter," the Graf told him without looking in his direction. He said to Hamp, "Since nothing that is said in this room this morning will ever go beyond its walls, we might as well be completely free. What has given you cause to believe me less than—ah, solvent? My interests are widespread."
"So are mine," Hamp said flatly. "I have sources and I have my common sense besides. Mercenary use has been declining for decades. So have clandestine sales of arms. The citizens of smaller nations are in revolt against their governments so far as military purchases are concerned. They've had a bellyful of it for a century or so. They're also getting a bellyful of assassinations and terrorism. All sorts of inquiries are going out about you and your activities. And this Roy Cos affair is almost sure to wind up with Deathwish Policies declared illegal on a worldwide basis, especially if and when the United States becomes the United States of the World. To sum it up, your business is melting away, Brandenburg."
"I see," the Graf nodded agreeably. "I am amazed at your interest in my affairs. But let us delve into it a bit further. Would it surprise you to learn that my plans include joining the upper echelons of the World Club and participating, along with my organization, in the World State?" The Grafs emotionless voice held a touch of smugness.