by Gar Wilson
Then the Reverend Vulcan approached. He put an arm across the woman's shoulder and started to ask her a question. "Did…"
Katz answered for her. "No. They didn't make it."
Vulcan concealed his surprise as he became aware of Katz's presence. "I beg your pardon?" he said.
Katz grinned, the dark skin folding into easy laugh wrinkles at the corner of his pale eyes. "Is that the standard response you teach at Cheyenne?"
"I beg your…" Vulcan stopped himself.
"You do realize all your work is for nothing now, don't you?"
The other four members of the Phoenix Force moved in as if to underscore his meaning.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Vulcan said huffily, and took his companion's arm.
Katz didn't let him leave.
"Come on, Vulcan. It's over. We get the whole picture: the training town, the planting of agents throughout the States, and now this, your grand finale."
Vulcan appealed to the other four men as if he were appealing to sanity in the face of a madman. "Is this gentlemen a friend of yours?"
They answered "Yes," in unison.
"Has he been drinking?"
"Forget the bullshit," McCarter said. "The game is over."
"Game? I have no idea what you are talking about," Vulcan persisted.
Gary Manning threw in a new idea. "Why don't you defect to the States? Tell your story and live a life of luxury."
"Defect? What do you mean? I'm an American citizen. I was born there. So was Miss Cardwell."
"Really…" Ann made a motion with her shoulders to show impatience and disgust"…this is getting ridiculous. I think you're all drunk. Come, Arnold. Let's go to the chapel."
"Yes, excuse us, gentlemen," Vulcan said. "We hold a midnight service for Christians aboard." He smiled. "Well, it's rather well past midnight. We cannot compete with the midnight buffet."
"We'll pray for your friend," Ann Cardwell said to the others, referring to Katz.
"Yes," Vulcan said. "Alcoholism is an illness that God's grace can cure."
They took the companionway leading down, leaving the five men with disbelieving expressions on their faces.
"I don't believe it," Katz said.
"Believe what?" James asked.
"Those two. We burned more than half their town, left enough bodies that they'll need a new cemetery, and not an hour ago I killed two of the gangsters they left behind to finish me. Now they pretend they don't know me. That's insane. They must know their cover is blown."
"You sure they're the right people?" Encizo questioned.
"'Sure'?" Katz repeated, and his chilly eyes showed his fury.
"Don't get excited," Calvin James intervened. "We didn't see anybody in Cheyenne that we didn't kill."
"You saw them," Katz told Manning and McCarter.
"The woman," Manning said. "For a second after we had nabbed the busboy."
"Then you, David?"
"Saw her between winks, yes."
"Are you saying I'm the only one who is certain about these people?" Katz was angry.
"Cool down, chief," Manning said.
"No wonder they think they can bluff their way out of their predicament. I'm the only one who's certain. It wouldn't stand up in court."
McCarter laughed derisively. "Since when do we settle things in court? You saw him. Then it's over. I wouldn't give a tinker's dam for their chances of getting to the States alive."
"Maybe they know something you don't," James suggested.
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
They were alone in the elevator, headed toward the upper deck, the most desirable location on board, where their adjoining suites were located.
"You killed two of Vulcan's men? That is the name he's using aboard the ship, by the way," Calvin James said. "And she's going by the name of Ann Cardwell all right."
"But what about the blokes you killed?" McCarter asked.
Katz was brief. "I tailed a bus when I saw the Cardwell woman go aboard. Like I said, I remembered her from Cheyenne."
"And…"
"'I tagged along. Dull at first. In and out of mosques and churches all afternoon. We ended up at a restaurant for dinner. The woman lured me outside onto a narrow balcony, probably ten stories high. She left me out there with two airhead bully boys from her table. It was a toss-up. They lost, but they beat me down to street level by five minutes at least. And now she thinks she can bluff. It's beyond me."
They left the elevator and started down the deserted hallways toward Katz's suite — they shared two others between them — and once they were inside, knowing the place had checked out earlier and was secure from listening devices, started the briefing session.
"Have you talked to Brognola since your first phone call?" Gary Manning.
"No." Katz stopped consideringly, then continued. "I couldn't talk openly to Hal over the phone. But, given the clues I dropped, I'm sure he gets the picture: Cheyenne, a KGB training emplacement. Burned… he would know that from spy satellites." They all exchanged a look, as if following one another's thoughts. "He knows we're aboard the Odyssey, and I'm sure he got the message that we were trailing people from Russia's Cheyenne. And he'll know we'll be reaching Venice just shortly before the President speaks to all of these computer brains."
"It doesn't sound like you need contact him again soon," McCarter said.
Manning agreed. "Vulcan and his gang have us pegged. Any communication with Stony Man can endanger the overall operation. We have to be super-careful."
"Agreed," Encizo and James said, then started moving restlessly about the room.
After a short planning session, Katz began handing out assignments.
"All right, McCarter, how about getting us a passenger list?"
"There's one in every room."
"Okay, check for newcomers besides us. Get the list to Hal. Maybe he can make use of the names and addresses."
"Send it in the clear?"
"Why not? Everybody knows their own name. As long as it doesn't go straight to headquarters."
"What about me?" Calvin asked.
"Tail Vulcan. Forget everything else."
"You going after the Cardwell woman yourself?" McCarter asked.
Katz looked somewhat regretful and grim. "Yes." Sighing with weariness, he leaned back on the couch, knowing he would have to shower before he could sleep. Encizo brought some coffee over from the bar, and the Israeli accepted a cup gratefully.
"I still don't know how Vulcan and his gang hope to survive when we know all about them."
Manning replied in an emotionless voice, "They kill all of us. That's how."
"The man has a point," James admitted.
Katz nodded. "Yes, we'll do well to keep that in mind."
"Maybe they intend to disembark in Mykanos," Encizo said.
Katz nodded. "Good point. Check with the purser to see if anyone is scheduled to leave the ship at the island. I doubt that there will be. But if Vulcan, Cardwell, or any of their bunch doesn't return to the ship, we notify the local authorities."
"Mykanos?" Gary Manning said. "The Greek government doesn't cooperate with the U.S. much any more. They've got a socialist government who thinks we side with their old enemies the Turks."
"Then we make sure they all get back aboard after touring the island. We disable anyone who we suspect of trying to escape."
"And in Venice?" McCarter asked.
Katz closed his eyes. "Before we get there, I'll have instructions from Brognola."
He was tired, but he stayed awake to question the four warriors. "Did any of you get something worthwhile from your surveillance today?"
McCarter shook his head.
"Nada," Encizo said.
Manning agreed. "A waste of time."
"You had the Russian's bus to tail," Calvin James said. "I just got suntanned."
"Don't fall into that way of thinking. Undoubtedly not all of the Russians rode around toge
ther." Katz checked his watch. "Everything's closed aboard ship except the disco, so turn in early or see what you can find to amuse yourselves. And be careful. Carry arms. These people may look like nice down-home folks from Cheyenne, but as they showed us, they're all trained killers."
He stood in the doorway after the others had gone, feeling somewhat let down as he started to close the door behind him.
"Wait," someone called to him from the corridor, and he whirled around to see the Cardwell woman at the end of the short hallway.
"You killed those two men, didn't you?" she asked matter-of-factly.
He was startled to see her, but he tried to hide his shock. "You killed them," Katz replied. "You sent them out onto the balcony."
He felt strangely uneasy. The woman was, he knew without a doubt, a dangerous seductress, besides being a KGB agent. She had lured him onto the balcony and tried to have him killed. Yet he was drawn to her with the kind of attraction he had felt when he had first met his wife. But he was widowed, and that kind of closeness was long gone. There were women, attractive, too, but without the kind of pull he was experiencing with the Russian woman.
"They only meant to talk with you," she said.
He laughed.
"Sure."
"You murdered them like all those innocent people back at Cheyenne. If Moscow ties you to that slaughter, your own government would arrest all of you."
Katz had heard the same thought expressed a dozen times during his tenure on Phoenix Force.
"It won't wash, Ann, or whatever your real name is. Once you're inside the States, you can use the American laws, the Constitution, the entire judicial system, to get away with whatever nefarious scheme you've got concocted. But out here, I'm judge, jury..»
"And executioner."
"Yes, that, too. It's not a job I like. But somebody has to work around the laws…"
"Outside the laws," she said. "You're an outlaw."
He nodded. "Yes. Occasionally I am an outlaw."
"You're breaking the laws of the freest nation in the world. You're defying the Constitution with the most magnificent bill of human rights written since the beginning of civilization. People all over the world dream of going to the United States, not because they have more fast-food restaurants or better housing than virtually anyone else. It's the legal systems, the freedoms that beckon so many of us. I mean…"
Katz walked toward her as he understood what she meant.
"You're doing this because you want to defect to America?"
"No."
"Yes." He was only a half dozen steps away from her, alert for the slightest movement on her part. Deliberately he pretended to be careless. He did not look back over his shoulder but could check her movements in a mirroring effect from the brass wall-hanging that depicted an artist's conception of a ship. "How many of your Cheyenne graduates have the same idea?"
"None/ she said.
"Afraid Vulcan will hear you admit what you have planned?"
"No. I have no secrets from him."
He came so close that he could enjoy her perfume. Then, unable to resist, and swayed by her heady scent to disregard what was a mild sense of danger, he put his finger under her her chin, tilting her head toward him, and kissed her gently. She neither resisted nor welcomed him with her lips.
He drew back to look at her again.
"You know one of us will get off this ship in a body bag," he said.
"I know. I wish it weren't so."
She turned and walked away.
And he felt sad. He knew how lonely the lovely suite would be.
Inside, he searched the lavishly furnished quarters, which included a sliding glass door to a small outside terrace on a balcony hanging out over the sea. That was the weakest point in his defenses. He pulled the drapes, planning to sleep there on the floor.
The clothes from one unlocked suitcase had been unpacked and put away, but his attaché case sat where he had left it. He opened it after checking for a booby trap and extracted the Titan Tiger.38 Special he had bought in Turkey. A good dependable defender, it would not have been his first choice. In the Turkish bazaar, though, variety had been limited. And the two-inch barrel fit well in his waistband. A sweater covered it easily.
He dropped to the couch. He had exhausted himself and considered sleeping fully clothed, but duty interfered. He had an idea.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the radio room's number. He had thought of a way to alert Hal Brognola without jeopardizing the headquarters' security.
The ringing in his ear jarred him enough to keep him awake.
No one answered in the radio room, and he dialed the purser's desk.
A female's bright voice greeted him.
"Is the radio room open?" he asked.
"It is always open," the girl answered pertly. "But normally they do not place passengers' calls until nine in the morning."
"Unless it's an emergency?"
"Yes. I am certain they would put through an emergency call at anytime. Do you want me to ring them for you?"
"No. I called. No one answered."
"That is strange."
"I'll go up. The man on duty might have fallen asleep."
"Heavens. I hope not. Let me know what you find."
"Certainly."
After hanging up, he looked at the ship's sales brochure on the suite's large walnut desk. The crosscut map of the ship showed he was only one deck down from the radio room.
He left the room cautiously and climbed the companionway. At the radio room, the window was closed. He rapped repeatedly with his knuckles. No answer.
The door's metal knob offered no resistance, and it turned easily, letting the door swing back into the fully lit room.
Cabinets of radio gear closed off one wall. The desk, chair, and short stand-up microphone were neatly placed. Everything was shipshape except two drawers of radio gear that were not fitted tightly into their cabinets.
Katz pulled them out.
Slots for circuit boards were empty. Loose connections hung free like guts from a fish partly cleaned.
The computer and its modem appeared untouched, until Katz lifted the monitor and fan device and looked in. There was not a single board inside. Granted that the ports might have been enough for most programs and communications, the fan was a giveaway. The computer was self-cooling unless the inside was packed with extra cards.
No doubt about it.
The communications equipment had been vandalized.
Katz then confirmed it for himself. He could not even get static in the headset or a flicker on the monitor.
His concern increased as he found more cabinets on the other side of the room. The cabinets were bare. They must have been stripped of replacement parts.
With deliberate calm, he dialed the bridge and asked for the duty officer.
"I want to place a call to the States," he said.
"Too late." The duty officer's voice was heavy with a Scandinavian accent.
"This is an emergency," Katz added.
"Then call the radio room, please. The operator will help you, I am certain."
"I did call. There was no answer."
"Impossible. You dialed the wrong number."
"No. I'm in the radio room. There is no one on duty."
"Wait then. The operator must have stepped out."
"Permanently, I'm afraid."
"Permanently? What is this?"
"I think you are going to find you have no radio communications and no spare parts."
"Impossible."
"Tell me that after you have checked the communications systems."
"I will be down. Wait for me there."
"Sure," Katz said as he hung up the phone and left the small quarters. He paused on the companionway leading to his deck until he heard the exclamations of the ship's officers as they entered the vandalized shack.
No radio, he told himself. Interesting.
No doubt Vulcan's people had star
ted work on their plan. Stopping them, whatever their goal, was his job. And it was bound to be a nasty one.
18
They gathered in Katz's suite, out on the terrace where the dense fog cloaked their muted vision in cotton. The remains of hearty lunches lay before them. A mixture of dishes spoke of their different backgrounds. Each dish identified the man: bagels for Katz, mackerel for Encizo, Canadian bacon for Manning, mixed grill for McCarter, and grits for Calvin James. But actually their selection was made more as a test of the ship's larder than any particular taste for the respective ethnic dishes.
The cuisine confirmed the reputation of cruise ships. There was food for every taste from caviar to chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy.
Another element had influenced the men's choice of food. In twelve hours they had learned one thing: they were in a self-enclosed environment, outnumbered by a largely unknown enemy. But the enemy would have no trouble getting to know the five of them.
"Great last meal," Calvin James said with an irony they could appreciate, except for McCarter, who glared threateningly at the young black, then sipped at a cup of hot tea.
Manning finished his third Coca-Cola of the day. The others opted for coffee.
"All right, where do we stand?" Katz's words rapped like a judge's gavel. "Let's get a good situation report."
Encizo spoke gloomily. "Up that proverbial creek with toothpicks for paddles."
Gary Manning stood up, knocking over his Coke and letting it flow across the embroidered tablecloth.
"Cut out the damned gallows humor," he grumbled. "I'm no more afraid of dying than either of you, but I don't want to go out a loser."
"I say it again," McCarter entered the conversation belligerently. "We get their leaders — the Cardwell woman and Vulcan — and the whole plot folds for lack of leadership."
"No," Katz said quietly but sharply. "I told you that it's too late for that. The plan is set. It goes off on schedule whether they're dead or not."
"Why do you still think it's the right thing?"
"He told you," James intervened. "We've watched them up until thirty minutes ago. They're holed up in his room. They haven't let anybody in and haven't used the phone. They're waiting for…"