by Nick Carter
Acasano, of course, had been expecting him. He had been waiting in the adjoining library. When Al shoved the telegrams in his pocket and started for the door, Acasano stepped through the connecting door and turned on the light.
"Find what you were looking for?" he asked.
Al smiled. "Made it easy for me, didn't you?"
Acasano was holding a .38 Smith and Wesson. He motioned Al toward the door. "My car is in the garage, pal. You'll do the driving."
"Afraid of messing up the house?"
"Could be. Let's go."
The two men went outside and across to the heated garage where the shiny, new Lincoln Continental was parked. Acasano kept the .38 on Al and handed him the keys.
"Where to?" Al asked as the Continental warmed up. Acasano was sitting in the back seat, the .38 close to the back of the agent's neck.
"We'll make it a classical kind of hit, pal. Drive out along the New Jersey coast. I'll stick the silencer on this rod so we won't disturb the neighbors. It'll be a bullet through the temple, some weight, and the chilly Atlantic."
Al drove the Continental. So far Acasano hadn't made any attempt to get the telegrams back. Maybe he wanted them to go into the Atlantic with Al.
When they had reached a dark, deserted spot along the New Jersey coast, Acasano ordered Al to pull over.
"There are some concrete blocks in the trunk," he said. "And a roll of wire. You'll find the key on the same ring as the ignition key."
Al got the trunk open. Acasano was standing close to the fender, the .38 still trained on the agent. Only one thing was running through Al's mind then. How could he get the telegrams to AXE headquarters? It was vital that AXE have that code. And Acasano couldn't be left alive to tell Nicoli about it either. If that happened, the code would simply be changed.
As Al lifted the trunk lid, a light came on. He saw five concrete blocks and the roll of wire. He knew Acasano wouldn't be easy. He reached inside and got one hand on a concrete block.
"The wire first, pal," Acasano said.
In a quick movement, Al swung the block out of the trunk and toward Acasano's head. Acasano bobbed to the side. The block glanced off his head. But he managed to squeeze off two shots with the silenced .38. The shots sounded like the air pop of a BB gun. The concrete block struck with enough force to knock Acasano off his feet.
But the shots were well placed. Al Emmet doubled over as both slugs slammed into his stomach. He grabbed the fender of the Continental for support.
Acasano had hit the snow hard. He was trying to sit up now. Al, with both hands clutching his bleeding stomach, stumbled to the gangster and fell on top of him. His hands groped along the overcoat-covered arm until he found the gun wrist.
Acasano suddenly came alive with strength. They struggled and rolled in the snow. Al was trying to get the gun away. Acasano was trying to knee the agent in his wounded stomach.
Again and again Al struck the gangster in the face and neck. But he was growing weak; there was no strength in his punches. He concentrated on the gun wrist, slamming it uselessly against the snow. Acasano was not idle. He kept pounding Al in the sides and chest, trying to get a clear blow to the stomach. And the punches were beginning to tell.
Then Al, with all the strength he had left, sank his teeth into the gun wrist. Acasano cried out in agonizing pain and the .38 dropped to the bloodstained snow bank. Al scrambled for it and got it in his hand just as Acasano kicked him in the stomach.
There had been little sound other than the panting of both men and the crunch of snow as they rolled back and forth in it. Since the hour was late and the street infrequently used, no cars came by the parked Continental.
Al Emmet was on his back, swinging the .38 around. Acasano scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward the agent, hovering above him like a huge bear. Al fired once, then again. Both slugs tore into the hood's chest. He stood with mouth and eyes open, not believing what had just happened. Then his eyes glazed over and he fell back.
Al pushed his painful, bleeding body to his feet. He dropped the .38 in his overcoat pocket. By grabbing the hood's arms, he managed to drag him to the back seat of the Continental. He shoved Acasano inside, then shut the trunk lid and stumbled to the driver's seat.
He knew he was dying. The slugs were accurately placed inside him. And there had been too much blood lost. He managed to get the Continental started, and drove straight to an AXE branch office in New Jersey.
Acasano was dead before Al got there. They had to drag Al from the car where he was slumped over the wheel. Nobody would have known he was there if he hadn't smashed into the steps to the building and slumped over the horn ring. He was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital.
Even then he wouldn't allow them to give him a sedative or take him to the operating room. In a mumbling voice he told them to keep him alive until he could speak to Hawk. A phone call was made, and Hawk was on a special chartered jet out of Washington, D.C. When he reached the hospital he was rushed to Al Emmet's bedside.
In gasping breaths Al said this was the first real break in the case. He told Hawk of the two telegrams and how the code had to be broken. Then he lapsed into silence.
Hawk stood and read the telegrams. Later, when the code was finally deciphered, he would learn that there was much more than access to a code in one of those telegrams. Rozano Nicoli had given definite instructions to Acasano. He was to draw up a list of those family heads who would side with Nicoli and a list of those who wouldn't. Since this would be a very secret list, Acasano would deliver it personally in Palermo.
Hawk was standing over Al Emmet as the agent gathered strength. Then Al motioned for Hawk to bend closer.
"T-there is… a girl," Al said in a very weak voice. "She is far too young… for Acasano, barely over nineteen. He… tried to impress her with her own apartment. Paid for by him. She… refused. Already had a boyfriend. Then… boyfriend in auto accident. Both legs broken. Acasano moved in on… girl. Showered her with candy and flowers. Took her… best places. She's not… very bright. Easily impressed. Liked the apartment Acasano had for her. Six weeks… moved in." Al Emmet fell silent again.
"What was her name, Emmet?" Hawk asked softly. "Give us her name."
In a still weaker voice, Al said, "Sandee… Catron… flashy blonde. Padded bra. Lot of make-up. Keeps hair up to look older. Chews gum. Likes to…" Al Emmet died before he could finish the sentence.
* * *
Hawk and I had finished the pot of coffee. He held up his hand, and a pretty girl in green, with red hair and sparkling blue eyes, came to get us a refill.
"So what did AXE do about this Sandee Catron?" I asked. "It seems to me she would have been the first one to miss Acasano, being his girl and all."
The cigar had gone out. It rested in the ash tray looking cold and distasteful. "We kidnapped her," Hawk said. "Right now she's in northern Nevada. We have her on ice in a remote cabin along the shores of Lake Tahoe."
I smiled as the redhead brought over our fresh pot of coffee. She set the pot down, returned my smile, and moved away with a lot of hip action.
"That isn't all we did, Carter," Hawk went on. "Using Acasano's name, we sent another telegram to Palermo telling Rozano Nicoli that the snooping agent had been dealt with."
"In the code, of course."
"Yes. We broke the code. We also asked Nicoli when he wanted Acasano to fly to Palermo with the list."
"And?"
He shook his head. "There hasn't been a reply yet."
We sipped our coffee silently for a few moments. I thought I had been told just about everything. My assignment was pretty clear. Using the cover of Acasano, I would fly to Palermo and try to get next to Nicoli. Then I had to stop him. And this Tai Sheng.
"We know very little about Acasano," Hawk said. "He has no police record; he was never in any trouble that could be proved. You are going to have to play it by ear, Carter."
I nodded. But one thing still puzzled me. Where was Tanya g
oing to fit in all this?
"Make no mistake, Carter," Hawk said pointing a finger at me. "Even though Nicoli and Acasano are close, Nicoli trusts absolutely no one. The two men have not actually seen each other in almost ten years. AXE has photos of Rozano Nicoli taken ten years ago, but no photos have been taken of him recently. He keeps himself completely surrounded by bodyguards. And except for those regular flights to Istanbul with that Turkish Communist, Konya, he rarely leaves his villa. Even then he takes a private plane, a Lear jet belonging to and piloted by none other than Tai Sheng. There is a winged tiger painted on the tail, and it is always landed on a grassy field just outside Istanbul."
"Could a woman get to Nicoli?" I asked.
Hawk gave me a meaningless smile. "Rozano Nicoli has been married to the same woman for thirty-one years. To our knowledge, he has never once been unfaithful."
"Well, I guess that just about…" I stopped as I saw her coming through the door of the commissary toward us.
It was Tanya, and yet it wasn't. She smiled as she approached our table. All innocence was gone. She looked brassy with flashy blond hair, a padded bra, a lot of make-up, her hair piled on top of her head to make herself look older, and she was chewing gum. The skirt and blouse were almost too tight for her.
As she stepped up to the table, I smiled at her and said, "Sandee Catron, I presume?"
Five
The next day at seven in the evening Tanya and I were climbing into a taxi in front of Kennedy International Airport in New York. I gave the driver the address of Thomas Acasano's apartment, the one he maintained for Sandee Catron.
It was snowing, and we rode in silence, lost in our own thoughts. There was no way of knowing what Tanya was thinking. But I looked outside the cab window at falling snowflakes, and visions of a bloodstained snowbank and two men struggling for a gun came to mind.
Tanya looked back at Kennedy International as we pulled away. "Every time I come here I'll think of how the Mafia has all the cargo tied up."
"Not all," I said. "There's no telling how much they actually control."
I looked at her, with her thick pancake make-up and false eyelashes. The eyelids were a light blue, and she was getting very good at popping that gum.
The flight from Flagstaff had been uneventful. We traveled as Thomas Acasano and Sandee Catron. And we watched a spy movie featuring Dean Martin.
I had a phony list AXE had researched and made up for me to deliver to Rozano Nicoli. It was probably very close to what the real Acasano might have delivered. Our instructions were simple. We were to wait in Acasano's apartment for a reply to Hawk's telegram.
The windshield wipers clicked noisily as the driver threaded the cab through New York traffic. The apartment was over on East Fifty-eighth Street. Our cab's headlights didn't reveal much, just countless flakes floating down in front.
I snuggled inside my overcoat and felt Tanya, or Sandee as I would now call her, pressing against me.
She snapped gum at me and smiled. "Cold," she whispered. "Colder than a well-digger's lunchbox in the Klondike."
"You're really throwing yourself into this, aren't you?"
"listen, Buster," she said in a tough-girlish voice. "I spent fifteen hours reading and watching films about that broad. I know her as well as I know myself. Hell, I am her." She snapped the gum some more to prove it.
The cabbie pulled over to the curb in front of a new apartment building. I paid off the driver and followed Sandee out into the snow. She stood shivering while I got our luggage from the trunk. Then we crunched through snow to an iron-gated archway.
Inside consisted of a patio with three stories of wrought-iron balconies. There were white wrought-iron tables and chairs scattered around us, all piled with snow.
"Which apartment is it?" Sandee asked.
I checked the key. Since Acasano had been in AXE's hands when he died, we had access to everything he had on him. "Bee, one-oh-five," I answered.
The apartments were arranged in four buildings, each one with a patio. Sandee and I entered the door to building B. The main floor doors were lined on each side of a hallway. There didn't seem to be much light.
We walked and checked the door numbers. They went from 1 to 99.
"Second floor," I said.
We took the elevator at the end of the hall. When we stepped out at the second floor, it looked dimmer than downstairs. The carpeting was so thick it felt as if we were in a hotel or a theater lounge.
"Here it is," Tanya, or Sandee, said.
I moved in front of the door beside her. "What am I going to call you when we're alone? Sandee, or Tanya?"
"Call me for supper, you creep. I'm starving."
I got the key in the lock with several clicks. "Wish there was more light," I mumbled.
"Heat, sir," she said. "I need heat." She shivered to prove it.
The latch clicked. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Immediately I had the feeling something was wrong. There was a smell, an unusual scent that resembled incense. I'd know for sure once there was a little light.
Reaching around the door jam, my hand fumbled along the wall for a light switch. Strong fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist. I felt myself being jerked inside the apartment.
"Nick!" Tanya cried.
The darkness was total. I stumbled forward surprised at the strength of the hand around my wrist. The normal reaction of anyone who is tugged at is to pull back against the force. To someone trained in karate, the opposite is true. If someone grabs and pulls, they expect some kind of resistance, even if token. What they don't expect is for you to go rushing headlong into them.
Which is what I did. Once I was inside the apartment, I rushed into whoever was pulling me. It was a man, and he was going down.
My feet left the floor; they went up toward the ceiling, then came around over me. I landed flat on my back against a chair.
"Hyaa!" a voice shouted. It came from across the room, and a blow followed it straight to my stomach.
I doubled over, then rolled. Tanya clicked on the light. The apartment was a shambles, furniture overturned, lamps broken, drawers pulled out. One ceiling light had come on above me.
There were two of them, both Oriental. As I pushed myself against the wall and up to my feet, one of them passed quickly in front of me. He gave out a short grunt and his arm swung in an upward arc, struck the globe of the ceiling light, and shattered it to pieces.
Darkness flooded the apartment and because Tanya had left the door open, some dim light filtered in from the hallway. Before the light had shattered, I saw the second man pull out a knife.
I moved along the wall to the corner and snapped Hugo down its sheath into my waiting hand.
"Mr. Acasano?" a voice said. "There is no need for this violence. Perhaps we can talk." The voice was coming from my left.
He was trying to draw conversation from me to pinpoint my position. It didn't matter that I knew where he was, he had help. I didn't know if I had any.
"You are not Mr. Acasano, are you?" the voice asked. "The lady called you Nick. She… Ahh!" The blow had landed against his side with a hollow thud.
I did have help.
The voice didn't worry me. As long as he was talking, he was giving me his position. It was the other one. He worried me.
He had also heard Tanya call me Nick and knew I wasn't Acasano. I couldn't let him leave the apartment alive either.
My eyes were used to the dimness now. He came along the wall in a crouch, moving fast, the dagger out in front of him. That sharp blade was aimed straight for my throat.
I jumped out of the corner swinging Hugo in a side arc. There was a «ting» sound as both blades flicked off each other. In one jump I was away from the wall and had turned back. Hugo was ready.
"Behind you!" Tanya shouted.
"Hyaa!" another voice cried.
The blow would have been one of those where the fingertips are curled and the knuckles slam with all the strength the att
acker has. It was aimed for my back, and it would have snapped my spine.
But I dropped to my knees as soon as Tanya shouted her warning. The blow glanced off my left ear, and by that time I was reaching.
He was off balance, coming forward. Both my hands were behind my head, grabbing. The other saw an advantage and stepped forward with the dagger back ready to lunge.
I caught him by the hair, which was good enough, and pushed to my feet as I pulled him down over my head. The smell of his cologne or after-shave was very strong for an instant.
He went high over me. The one with the dagger saw him coming and opened his mouth. Both men collided with a grunt and went smashing back against the wall. It was a miracle one of them wasn't cut with that dagger.
For a few seconds they were a tangle of arms and legs. I used the time to step in closer, Hugo by my waist, aimed straight ahead.
The one with the dagger rolled away from the wall and, in one liquid motion, swung up to his feet. He was coming high, with the dagger swinging down.
It wasn't difficult then. I sidestepped to the right, pivoted, dipped, and came up with Hugo. The stiletto pushed into him just under the rib cage, the blade went through the left lung and pricked the heart. Almost immediately I yanked the blade out and jumped to my left.
The strength was out of his arm before the dagger came completely down. His free hand clutched at his chest. It had only taken split seconds, but in that time I saw the man I had killed. Straight black hair, half hanging over his face. Suit, well cut and tailored. Face broad and flat, in the late twenties.
He stumbled back, the dagger falling noiselessly to the carpet. Both hands clutched at his chest. When he sank to his knees his eyes were looking straight through me. The front of his shirt was scarlet with blood. He fell face forward.
That left the other one outnumbered, and he knew it. He pushed me and started for the door.