Assassination Brigade

by Nick Carter

  “My God,” I said, laughing, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me so soon after last night. It’s Tony.”

  “Ah—Tony, Dumplink,” the answer was now full of life.

  “The reason I called you so early was that I’d like to take you up on that invitation for a little trip—just the two of us. But instead of Spain or France or Mexico, let’s make it Monte Carlo. How does that sound?”

  “Divine,” she said. “When do you want to go?”

  “Right now,” I told her, “this morning, as soon as possible. You did say the jet was ready.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But why Monte Carlo?”

  I’d already decided to give her the real reason for choosing Monte Carlo. Television, radio, and newspapers were running the story that morning about the run on the casino.

  “You probably haven’t heard the news,” I said. “There’s a big run on the bank at the casino. Last night the management suspended play for twenty-four hours. I’d like to be there when it starts again.”

  I had figured it was just the kind of thing that would appeal to a Von Alder. I knew I’d guessed right when I heard her delighted squeal.

  “Let’s go,” she exclaimed without hesitation. “How soon can you be ready to take off? Do you want me to pick you up for the drive to Long Island?”

  The Von Alders kept their jet at their Long Island estate on the North Shore. I’d visited the estate a couple of times since I’d met the family. So, since I knew where it was, I told her I’d meet her there in two hours.

  I reported to Hawk and then worked out briefly in the small gym at my apartment before dressing and packing my bag. Hawk sent a car and driver to take me out to Long Island, and when we got there, I found Helga waiting and die plane ready on the Von Alder’s private landing strip.

  Less than two hours after I’d phoned Helga, we were airborne on the Lear jet and flying over the Atlantic. Helga and I sat in seats in the rear of the spacious cabin, which had all the comforts —lounge chairs, sofa, bar, even a crystal chandelier—of a comfortable living room.

  It was a perfect day for flying; the sky was blue and cloudless from horizon to horizon, a welcome change from the overcast weather of the previous night. The sea beneath us was like an unruffled blue carpet.

  Helga took me forward to the cockpit to meet the pilot, Captain Dirk Aubrey, and the copilot, Douglas Roberts. Aubrey was a tall, heavyset fellow with a pencil-slim black moustache. Roberts was a slim younger man—probably in his early twenties—with light-colored hair and a freckled moon face.

  “She’s right on course,” Aubrey said, nodding toward the instrument panel, “and the weathers clear straight into Orly, where we’ll refuel.”

  For the next several hours, Helga and I amused ourselves with a movie that she showed by simply pressing a couple of buttons and later, with a game of backgammon. Helga seemed much more subdued than she’d been the evening before, but she was still good company, and the time passed swiftly.

  We must have been less than fifty miles off the coast of France when, without warning, the plane abruptly plunged with its nose down toward the sea. Helga screamed. Everything in the cabin that wasn’t nailed down—including Helga and me— skidded over the canted floor of the cabin and slammed hard against the closed door of the cockpit.

  Helga was still screaming while I tried to twist around on my side to push the door of the cockpit open. It was locked. I yanked out Wilhelmina, my Luger, from my shoulder holster and blasted the lock off. The door swung open, exposing the cockpit that was now below me.

  As I looked into the cockpit, I could see that Captain Aubrey was still at the controls, but his posture appeared to be frozen. Copilot Roberts was sprawled on the floor, either dead or unconscious. The plane was still plummeting toward the ocean.

  I yelled at Aubrey, who turned his head briefly to look up at me. Then he turned back to the controls, both hands clenching the wheel. Looking at his face, I recognized the same blank expression I had observed on the face of the AXE agent when he had tried to kill me in Helga’s apartment. His eyes were glazed as if he were hypnotized or drugged.

  Until that moment, I had been hanging onto the side of the cockpit door with my fingers. Now I released my grip and came hurtling forward into the cockpit. I reached for the pilot at the controls. Somehow I managed to hook one arm around his neck and pry him partially loose from the wheel, but he still clung stubbornly to the controls until I yanked at him with all of my strength and threw him backward into the rear cabin.

  The plane continued its drop toward the sea.

  I fell into the pilots seat and pulled back hard on the wheel. A great shudder ran through the jet from nose to tail, but then slowly the nose began to come up. I continued pulling back on die wheel, straining every muscle in my body in my effort to defeat the pull of gravity. Finally, the plane leveled off—only a few feet from the Atlantic. It was lucky I’d put in enough flying time in jets to be able to. handle that plane, but it had still been a near catastrophe.

  During the next few minutes I was busy checking the instruments while the jet skimmed evenly along the surface of the ocean. Everything seemed to be working, so I shoved the wheel forward, and we began to climb again. Then Helga screamed my name from the rear cabin.

  I turned just in time to see Aubrey coming at me with a wrench. While I steadied the wheel with one hand, I whipped out Wilhelmina again with the other and shot him in the right shoulder. He staggered backwards and fell, letting the wrench slip from his numb fingers. As I tried to hold the jet in a climb, I glanced back at the pilot. He had pulled himself to his feet again, but was reeling back into the rear cabin. I could see Helga in the background, huddled up in a corner of the cabin. I still held Wilhelmina in my hand, but I didn’t want to shoot again unless Aubrey made a move toward either Helga or me.

  He didn’t. Instead, he staggered drunkenly to-ward the cabin door, which he managed to shove open despite the tremendous pressure on it. There was no way to stop him except to shoot—and if I missed, I would endanger the whole plane. Aubrey hung briefly in the open doorway and then tumbled out head first. I swung the plane up and around so that the door slammed shut. Beneath the starboard wing, I could see Aubrey’s body falling almost in slow motion, his arms and legs spread apart, until he hit the water and disappeared beneath the choppy surface.

  Helga joined me in die cockpit while I focused my attention on flying the jet. She tried to revive Roberts, the copilot, who was still lying unconscious on the floor. It took her a long time to bring him around, but eventually he mumbled, sat up groggily, and looked around. He was shaking his head. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  His behavior confirmed my suspicion that he had been drugged. When he had recovered enough to speak coherently, he told me that the last thing he remembered was drinking a cup of coffee that Aubrey had handed to him. He was still too dazed to ask about the missing captain, so I didn’t tell him anything about Aubrey’s fate. I would concoct some kind of explanation later.

  By that time, I had radioed the control tower at Orly, which we were now approaching, and we had been cleared for landing. A little later we touched down, and I brought the jet to a standstill. T couldn’t say I wasn’t relieved.

  As we left the plane, Helga looked at me with puzzlement in her eyes. “What happened back there?”

  I shook my head. “Hard to say. Looks like your captain froze to the controls and went berserk with fear when the plane started to fall. He was probably half-mad when he attacked me and then jumped out. Roberts, die copilot, must have passed out from the pull of gravity. Those things aren’t uncommon in flying. But let me do the talking to the authorities so we don’t get caught up in a lot of red tape.”

  There was no way to tell if she had really accepted my explanation, but she didn’t press me further.

  When “we reached the airport terminal building—accompanied by Roberts, who was still shaky on his feet—I located the head of Orly’s secu
rity police and asked him to send me an AXE agent, a fellow I knew as Dummlier, and the local chief of Interpol. When both men arrived, I told them exactly what had happened, indicating that I suspected the incident was tied in with my assignment. I stressed that it was urgent for Helga and me to continue to Monte Carlo immediately.

  “Let me take care of this,” the man from Interpol said when I had finished. “There will be no trouble. Perhaps your associate here,” he turned to Dummlier, “can locate a trustworthy pilot and copilot to fly you on to your destination.”

  Dummlier nodded, and the meeting ended. In less than an hour Helga and I were on our way to Nice, the closest landing field to Monte Carlo. We had two Americans—probably part of the French AXE staff or the CIA-to pilot the jet. Dummlier had made arrangements to return Roberts to the States, and Helga herself had reassured him that he would continue in her employ and would be paid while he was recuperating from his unfortunate experience. As far as I could determine, my explanation—that Roberts had suffered a blackout—had been accepted by both Helga and the authorities.

  The flight to Nice was without incident. We landed in late afternoon, and Helga and I took a limousine to the Hotel de Paris, near the casino in Monte Carlo. Helga had arranged to have the limousine waiting to meet our plane and had reserved adjoining suites at the hotel as well. We were lucky that Helga was well known; we were guaranteed rooms even though Monte Carlo was packed with curious tourists from all over the world. The streets were swarming with sightseers, giving the town an intoxicating carnival air, and there wasn’t an empty hotel room to be had.

  As we drove through the streets of Monte Carlo, with the Mediterranean shimmering like dark, rich wine in the late-afternoon shadows, I was reminded of the legendary story of the beginning of Monaco in the year 303. According to the legend, a Corsican maiden, Devote, was punished by the governor of Corsica when it was discovered that she was a Christian. The governor sentenced the girl to be bound and dragged by horses over rough ground and then to be stretched on a rack until she was dead. The instant she died, a white dove was observed floating above her body. One night later, when her body was taken by a monk and placed in the boat of a fisherman, the white dove appeared again. The fisherman followed the dove as the bird skimmed the waters, leading him to Monaco, and he buried the girl’s body there.

  I wondered if my stay in Monaco would be as incredible.

  Eight

  My suite had a sweeping view of the sparkling sea and the towering cliffs that soared for miles along the curving coastline. As I unpacked my bags, showered, and changed, I could hear Helga moving about in her suite next door. From the sounds of her movements, I could tell that her actions roughly duplicated mine.

  It was several hours before play would resume at the casino. We would, of course, dine at the hotels penthouse restaurant with the sliding ceiling that opened to the sky. But there was plenty of time to spend before dinner. I knew Helga didn’t care about sightseeing, and I thought it would be a shame if we didn’t enjoy this time together in a more pleasurable pursuit. Hoping that Helga felt the same way, I solved the minor but potentially troublesome difficulty presented by the locked door between us by ordering champagne, caviar, and three dozen red roses to be delivered to her at six. At approximately one minute after die hour, she rapped on the door and called to me softly.

  “You are very thoughtful,” she said, holding out a glass of champagne as I entered her suite.

  She was wearing a delicate pink negligee that outlined her body in a lovely silhouette when she moved to the windows overlooking the sea. I paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of her body through the gossamer fabric of the garment and then joined her at the window. The setting sun had disappeared somewhere below the horizon, but it had left a deep, rich, golden reflection behind in the clear sky. The waters of the Mediterranean, in turn, reflected the sky, intensifying the light so that the room seemed to be alive with dazzling gold.

  “It’s a very lovely view, isn’t it?” Helga asked, turning toward me.

  “Yes, very lovely,” I replied, my eyes deliberately running down the length of her body and up again until I met her gaze. She ran her tongue around her lips and asked, “Do you like me, Tony?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “As much as you like my sisters?” she persisted. The question surprised me after the night we had spent together in New York, but instead of answering her directly, I held out my arms and said, “Would you like me to show you how much?”

  She came toward me in a sensuous, flowing motion, her eyes half closed and her lips parted. I kissed her, and her whole body immediately responded, vibrating gently up and down against me. Her legs opened and encircled mine, and I could feel her quivering Renter seeking my own aroused, responding body. She moaned softly and swayed backwards, setting down her champagne glass. I placed my own glass on a nearby table. When I turned back, I saw her slipping off her negligee.

  The golden light turned her nude body into an exquisitely molded, living bronze statue. I barely had time to remove my own clothing before she had pulled me down onto the chaise lounge with her.

  “Quickly!” she whispered, pleading, as she thrust her hips up. We were joined.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she murmured breathlessly. Her hands clutched at my shoulders and arms, and her nails dug into my flesh as she urged me on. Moments later, I felt her body opening and closing around me, her head twisting from side to side in passion, until we reached the peak of a wildly convulsive climax.

  As we lay side by side on the chaise, she turned her head and looked at me. She was smiling softly, “You know now, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  I knew what I should have guessed ever since we had left New York—but, of course, until a few minutes ago there had been no way to tell. The woman lying beside me was not Helga, for I was familiar with her distinctive way of making love. Nor was it Maria, whom I also knew intimately.

  “You’re Elsa.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “You’re not sorry, are you?”

  “How can you ask a question like that? After what we just shared?”

  She laughed delightedly. “Helga will be furious when she finds out what I’ve done. I was spending the night in her apartment when you phoned her in the morning. She was still asleep and didn’t hear a thing. When you suggested a trip to Monte Carlo, I just decided to pack up and go and let you think I was Helga. It sounded like such fun. Besides, you’ve already spent enough time with my two sisters. It’s my turn.”

  As I listened to her words, I reflected that it was just the kind of trick that the Von Alder women were capable of playing. But even though her explanation did sound plausible enough, I had to remind myself that the Von Alders were suspects in the case I was trying to solve and that there might be something sinister in Elsa’s substitution for Helga.

  But I could do nothing at that moment. I smacked lightly on her shapely little buttocks and told her to get dressed.

  When we arrived at the casino after dinner, we found it was jammed. The huge crowd was standing in a tightly packed circle around one roulette wheel in hushed anticipation. There were three men inside the circle: the croupier, a second man, who wore a tuxedo and dark glasses— obviously one of the directors—and the Belgian, Tregor, the man who was breaking the bank.

  Elsa and I managed to squeeze through the crowd to a spot only a few feet away from the three men. Just as we arrived, the spinning roulette wheel clicked to a stop, and the watching crowd pressed forward and gasped. The croupier shoved a mountainous stack of chips across the table to Tregor, who imperturbably put them beside another huge stack in front of him.

  “My God!” a woman near me whispered excitedly. “He just won half a million dollars! What’s he going to do now?”

  Tregor seemed oblivious to the people pressed around him. He was a giant, imposing man with a big belly who sipped from a glass of mineral water he kept filled from a bottle standing at his elbow. Dark
glasses hid his eyes, but his face, I noticed, was set in an absolutely blank mask.

  Every eye in the room was trained on him, waiting to see what he’d do next. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the fist he had made with his right hand as if he was meditating and remained in that posture for several seconds. At that moment I was probably the only one in the crowd who glanced toward the director standing opposite. He was in almost die identical pose as Tregor! It was almost as if they were silently communicating with one another!

  A second later both men raised their heads simultaneously, and Tregor with a steady hand confidently placed his whole stack of chips on the red square in front of him.

  Elsa clutched my arm. “He’s going to bet all his winnings!” she whispered unbelievingly. “A million dollars!”

  Tregor settled back into his chair as the croupier raised a hand and set the wheel spinning again. It spun dizzily for a second or two. As it began to slow, die onlookers started chanting in unison, “Red, red, red”—Tregor’s bet. Finally the wheel stopped. The Belgian had won again. The croupier pushed another stack of chips toward Tregor’s original stack. Two million dollars! Then the director stepped forward and announced in a quiet voice, “The wheel is closed for the evening.”

  The crowd moved back as Tregor collected his chips with the help of several casino employees and headed toward the cashier. I noticed that at least twelve secret agents from various foreign governments, all of whom I recognized, were trailing him. Tregor wouldn’t, he couldn’t, go anywhere without those agents right behind him. The world’s governments had made it difficult for him to slip out of town easily.

  I considered all modes of transportation in and out of Monte Carlo. There were only three roads that led out of the town, and they could be easily watched. The town officials kept all boats in the harbor under constant surveillance, and they had the fastest boat in the Mediterranean. No one could leave by air because there is no level stretch of ground in Monte Carlo long enough to make an airfield. These factors would prevent Tregor from eluding the agents who were trailing him to find out where he was taking the money he had won. It wasn’t necessary for me to follow.