Eighth Card Stud

by Nick Carter

  "Of course."

  Again my house of cards came tumbling down. I worried over the facts again and discovered one tiny word I didn't understand.

  "What's a framing camera?" I asked.

  "It's a high-speed movie camera. It'll take thirty thousand frames a second."

  "And it's triggered automatically, not by hand?"

  She laughed at my ignorance. "It has to be triggered electrically. No human could respond fast enough."

  "So George really had nothing to do after the camera was loaded and ready to film?"

  "No, but what's that got to do with anything?"

  "Nothing, Anne. Don't worry about it. I think it's time I had a few words with Dr. Sutter." I watched her tense again. I said, "I've gathered enough evidence to convince me he's not the one responsible for what's been happening on Eighth Card. After all, he was with the senators and military brass in the observation bunker when Burlison was killed."

  She missed the implication of my flat statement. I didn't bother informing her of my new suspicions.

  "He's already left for the observation bunker. The computer is being programmed for the test this evening."

  "I'll go talk with him. It's urgent that I do it immediately. The test might be sabotaged again, and I need his expert advice on how to stop it." I left her in my office, eyes wide with horror at the idea of still another bit of sabotage being done on the laser.

  * * *

  "What do you want?" Sutter snapped, his body hunched over the remote teletype terminal that programmed the computer controlling the laser cannon.

  "A few minutes of your time," I said.

  "Whoever you are, I'm very busy. This damn thing refuses to respond. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

  "You know I'm not Burlison? How long?"

  "Almost from the beginning. Everything about you was wrong. The little things as well as the big ones. You might fool most people around here who only casually knew him, but not me."

  "Why didn't you turn me in to security?"

  "You got into the compound. That surprised me no end, but if you got past the surveillance equipment the guards use, you had to be a government agent. It hardly matters what the government does anymore. To me, at least."

  "You figured I was after you for your drinking and gambling?" Sutter glumly nodded. "That's been noted in my report," I said, "but the sabotage to the project is my primary mission. What's this about having problems with the programming?"

  "I don't know," the man said, exasperated. He ran his hand through a thinning thatch of gray hair and shook his head. "I requested a check on the tracking program and it balked. It's locked up tighter than a drum on me."

  "You were using just the infrared tracker, right?" He nodded and I asked, "Is there another input? Perhaps from an override program? One that blocks off all the other input and supplies a different set of tracking coordinates?"

  "What do you know about this? Tell me!"

  "Check it through. I'll wait."

  His chubby fingers danced on the keys of the remote terminal. In less than five minutes, he turned back and said, "You're right. Somehow, the tracker will accept data only from another program. The IR tracking device is left out entirely. What is this?" he asked, reading off numbers.

  "It's a location in the sky not too far from the spot where the missile would reenter, isn't it?" From his startled reaction, I saw my guess was right. "Do you have any information on objects orbiting the earth? Like satellites?"

  "You think someone sabotaged the project again to blow up another satellite? This is outrageous!"

  I went to a nearby telephone, dialed a special number, and contacted a man in NORAD Headquarters deep under Cheyenne Mountain outside Colorado Springs.

  "Hello, Dvorkin? Fine, how about yourself? Good, good," I said, getting the pleasantries out of the way. "I need the orbital parameters for the Russian-manned space station. No, give them to the gentleman I'll be putting on the phone. He can understand the technical jargon better than I can."

  I passed the phone over to Sutter, who listened, the expression on his face one of disbelief. "Yes," he said. "Again, please. Got it." He hung up and looked at me, saying, "I don't have to run this through the computer. The laser is definitely locked on the manned Salyut space station the Russians put up. If Eighth Card is fired, we'll blow up six cosmonauts! And I can't stop the test! The damned computer keeps overriding my commands."

  A cold lump formed in the pit of my stomach. This would be the match lighting the fuse of World War III. No amount of diplomatic pleading would convince the Russians — or the rest of the world — that we had not deliberately destroyed a peaceful scientific mission. Even if the Russians hadn't been intent on starting another war, this backed them into a corner where they either fought or lost face.

  Madame Lin's devious mind was etched on every deadly detail of this dilemma.

  * * *

  "There's no way you can break into the bunker," protested Sutter. "After what happened to Burlison, I ordered this one totally sealed. I have to break the programming and stop the test. That's the only way now."

  "Keep trying to reprogram," I told him. "But I'll go to the bunker and try to destroy the laser." The hurt look on his face said it all. The destruction of the Eighth Card laser was tantamount to slaughtering his firstborn son.

  But it had to be done to avert World War III.

  I jumped into a jeep parked outside and keyed the engine to life. The engine had barely caught when I floored the gas pedal and leaped ahead over the bumpy dirt road leading to the test site. As I drove, I stripped off the bandages from my face and hands. They served no purpose now. Sutter knew my identity, Anne Roxbury knew I wasn't Burlison — and the one man I had been trying to flush out had known who I was from the very start.

  Edward George had killed Burlison. When I appeared in the bandages, he knew the government had called in an undercover agent. I had to admire his acting ability earlier today. He had been decoying me away from Sutter's house last night. He had stolen the scientist's car and driven me into the ambush. George had covered his surprise at seeing me alive as well as anyone could have done. But his reactions hadn't seemed as important to me as Sutter's. I had been guilty of an elementary trap. Never accuse without all the facts. I'd been so sure Sutter was the spy I'd virtually ruled out the possibility of anyone else being involved.

  It had almost been fatal.

  I careened around the curves heading closer and closer to the squat concrete bunker in the distance. The dying rays of the sun glinted off the tube of the laser protruding from the top of the bunker. That laser aimed for the heavens — and the Salyut space station. I hoped Sutter had circumvented the diabolical computer program homing the laser in on the Salyut, but I couldn't count on it. Edward George had played it cagey so far. People on a winning streak tend to continue winning.

  Unless stopped.

  I saw an abandoned car behind a low rise to the north of the bunker. Guessing this was George's transportation, I stopped and spent a few minutes under the hood pulling out the rotor under the distributor cap. Without it, he was stranded. I similarly disabled my jeep and put both rotors in my pocket. Unlimbering Wilhelmina, I grabbed the toggles and pulled back the slide. A 9 mm Parabellum round snicked into the firing chamber. I set off to find George and stop him.

  When Sutter had said he ordered the bunker sealed, I hadn't understood how thoroughly he'd meant that. The thick steel door proved impervious. Even with a cutting torch used against the hinges, I discounted the chances of gaining entry before the laser fired at the space station and cremated all the orbiting Russian cosmonauts. There were no windows in the solid concrete walls for me to break through. The roof proved as invulnerable. The laser tube thrust up through the roof, but the arrangement proved similar to that used for large observatory telescopes. The laser stuck out a slit, heavy steel plates stationed on either side to prevent my entry.

  "Carter?" boomed the lou
dspeaker on the roof. "Why don't you give it up? You can't stop me now. The test will be over before you can force your way in."

  "I'll stop you, George. I have to. You've been clever up till now, but you haven't thought about the consequences of knocking down the Salyut."

  "So you figured it out. Bully for you."

  "It means another war, a big one with the U.S. and Russia tossing H-bombs at each other indiscriminately. You don't want to be caught in the middle of that, do you?"

  "While living in the fallout isn't my idea of paradise, I won't be around to be part of the fallout."

  "What did Madame Lin offer you? Sanctuary in China? Don't be a fool. She'll kill you the instant you deliver what she wants. She's ruthless. And you're a rank amateur at this game."

  "As long as I have the laser switching device, she needs me. I have that worked out, Carter. I have everything carefully planned. I'm sick of busting a gut and getting nothing in return. The others are all so selfless it makes me sick to my stomach. The government has them snowed. All of them. But not me! I'll get what I deserve and to hell with all of them!"

  I searched the perimeter of the building, hunting for one small weakness. Sutter had designed the bunker too well. Even ramming my jeep into one of those foot-thick concrete walls would have been futile. I remembered the tons of steel reinforcing used on the other bunker. This was even more heavily constructed.

  "Carter? It's only five minutes before the laser fires on the space station. Can you see the Salyut? It should be nearing the evening star anytime now."

  I squinted into the setting sun. About ten degrees above the horizon I found Venus. To the left of it was a dimmer spot of light, constantly changing intensity as the space station rotated and reflected light off different portions of its exterior. I have no love of the Russians, not after years of matching wits — and bullets — with their agents, but circumstances change constantly in the world of espionage. It now proved vital to U.S. security for me to protect the space station, even with my life, if necessary.

  I doubted flinging myself in front of the bore of the laser cannon would matter. The potent beam of coherent lightning would lash through my puny body virtually undiminished. If a hundred miles of atmosphere barely dispersed the beam, nothing I could put in front of the muzzle would slow it down.

  Still, that tube provided the only weakness in the concrete fortress. I desperately wanted to see the laser tube slowly lower and retract into the confines of the bunker, a signal that Sutter had successfully overriden the program George had stuffed into the computer's uncaring maw. Nothing of the sort happened.

  "Ready to see the sight of your life, Carter? Three minutes to firing."

  The laser tracked slightly, correcting for atmospheric distortion. Directly overhead, a sudden flare and a long flaming tail scarred the twilight. The missile from Green River had been launched on schedule. It hadn't occurred to me to order cancellation of the launch. Sutter hadn't thought of it, either.

  "The laser didn't even try to track the rocket, Carter," gloated George, safe inside his fortress. "All it thinks about now is matching orbital parameters with the space station. And when they match, the laser cannon fires. Less than a minute to go. Carter. This is military history being made!"

  I jumped, pulling myself onto the roof of the bunker. The laser barrel moved infinitesimally, homing in on the Salyut. Wilhelmina in hand, I aimed, firing slowly, deliberately, each bullet penetrating the multimillion-dollar laser tube. I didn't know if this seriously affected it or not. All I could do was try.

  "Damn you, Carter, what are you doing? There're only fifteen seconds until firing. Just watch, dammit, just watch!"

  I emptied the clip, the slide locking in the open position. I ejected the clip and stuffed in a new one, cycling in a fresh round. Continuing to fire, I made Swiss cheese of the laser. Tiny plumes of carbon dioxide whitely jetted from the holes I'd shot into the sides. By the time my Luger had emptied again, the laser had vanished in a cold silver cloud of shimmering coolant gas.

  "Fire!" screamed George, over the PA system.

  I threw up my arm to protect my eyes. The crackle of the capacitors inside as they shoved megawatt after megawatt into the lasing chamber reached my ears. But the intense lightning bolt of death never launched into the heavens. I edged closer to the tube and peered down it. Huge sparks limned the interior with blue discharges.

  The Eighth Card laser had been played — and trumped.

  All that remained was tying up the loose ends. I kicked at the ruined laser tube until it collapsed and crashed down into the bunker. The hole didn't appear large enough for me to squeeze throughout I managed. I wasn't about to let George stay inside much longer.

  "You stupid meddling bastard!" George screamed. "You've ruined everything!"

  While he wasted breath screaming curses and threats, I acted. Diving low, I tackled him just above the knees. We tumbled into a pile of thrashing arms and legs. He flailed wildly while I kept my punches short, hard, and probing for vital spots. Only the cramped position prevented me from knocking him out. Edward George succeeded in getting away by pulling a heavy book off a nearby table and smashing it hard into the back of my neck.

  Stars spun in crazy orbits, but I struggled to follow him. I'd kept George's scheme to destroy the Salyut from succeeding. I had to put him away and go after Madame Lin, the real mastermind behind this plot, but it only sounded easy. Edward George had recovered from my initial attack and fought fiercely.

  Unlike Sutter, George kept himself in prime physical condition. A bony fist snaked out and slammed hard against my cheek, sending me sprawling, my arms pinwheeling wildly. Wilhelmina was empty; Hugo slid easily into my hand. Fairness is a concept with no meaning when your life is on the line.

  "Don't kill me, Carter," the scientist whined. "I'll give up. Honest, I will!"

  His hands went above his head. I should have known that he wouldn't surrender this easily. His hands closed over a pipe wrench left on a high shelf. The heavy metal tool tumbled toward me. I avoided it — barely. Instead of smashing my skull to a bloody pulp it only deadened my right arm. Hugo dropped to the concrete floor.

  George gave me no time to pick up the stiletto with my left hand. He kicked out, his foot landing squarely in the middle of my chest. I took the blow, rolled away, and robbed it of some of its power. Even though I remained virtually undamaged, George now had the edge. Hugo gleamed wickedly in his hand.

  "Come, come. Carter. Don't be afraid of your little friend. It only wants to drink deeply of its master's blood." His stance and movement told me he wasn't the most skillful knife fighter in the world, but he was also far from the clumsiest.

  He made short slashing motions, to and fro, driving me backward. He quickly had me in a corner, the point of the blade steadied and aimed up between my eyes. He knew most of the tricks. But so did I. He was good; I'm better.

  A two-foot length of chain I picked up off the floor gave me the defense I needed. Swinging it in a short arc, tracing out a figure eight in front of me, I wove a curtain of steel between me and the knife blade. As George struck, the chain wound around his wrist, and I jerked as hard as I could. I lost my balance, but he lost the knife.

  "You'll die, Carter… I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!"

  "It just might be the last thing you try," I said. George kicked a chair into my path and bolted, running for the forest of huge capacitors. I vaulted the chair and went after him, then hesitated. The thick rods atop each of the capacitors discharged fat blue sparks, any one of which would weld the fillings in my teeth if I got hit. George had no fear of those barely tamed lightning bolts. Not knowing how to proceed might kill me.

  I stalked around the edges of the oil-bath capacitors, wary of a trap. I heard only the snapping and crackling of the electrical arcing. The garlic odor of ozone assaulted my nostrils, and thick oil leaking from the capacitors made the concrete under my soles treacherously slippery. I circled until I came to the door
leading from the bunker. I checked it. The thrown deadbolts held it securely. I moved on, still cautious and suspecting an attack at any instant.

  Edward George might as well have vanished from the face of the earth. I walked slowly between the capacitors, studying the oil on the floor, hoping to catch sight of a footprint before the viscous fluid moved to erase it.

  "Come off it, George," I called out. "Surrender. Make it easy on yourself. Tell me everything you know about Madame Lin. I'll see that they don't go too heavy on you." Whether or not he knew I couldn't make such promises — and wouldn't, even if possible — I don't know. He didn't rise to the bait.

  The clink of metal against metal warned me that he had returned to the laser carriage. I remember Hawk telling me that the Burlison switching device rested in the base of the laser. George was removing the bolts to get at the vital solid state switch, the heart of the laser's success.

  I left the oily forest of the capacitors and went around to catch the man by surprise. A dark form hunched over the bolts, one of which had already been pulled free. As a myriad details registered on my mind and I realized this wasn't George but only a dummy he had hastily propped up, I felt the shock wave of a descending pipe wrench. The solid impact on the top of my head caused fireworks to explode. The red veil of pain mercifully faded away as I lost consciousness.

  Chapter Nine

  I struggled back to consciousness. The throbbing pain in my head made me think some demented dwarf hid inside my skull and kicked the backs of my eyeballs with spiked track shoes. I slumped to the floor, refusing to hurry my return to reality. The pain died down a little, and I fought my eyelids over whether or not to open.

  They opened.

  I thought I would go immediately blind from the brilliant blue sparks leaping through the bunker to touch everything metallic. Not understanding what had happened, I kicked out, discovered both ankles were firmly secured to a metal stanchion and gave up for a second. When my strength permitted, I heaved and rolled over onto my back.