The Mammoth Book of Short Spy Novels (Mammoth Books) Page 36

  “But of course,” said the Principessa without expression.

  Peter Baron peered through the curtains of the alcove. The man who had joined the Princess sat with his back to him. Paula Rimini toyed with her drink.

  “I shall not stay long, Princess,” he continued. “I am simply here to give you the details of an assignment you must perform for us.”

  “Assignment?” The Princess smiled bravely.

  “You are in Dr. Forester’s complete confidence. We know that in the event of a serious accident to Dr. Forester, you have been entrusted with the safety of a valuable document in his vault at Chimici Consoladati.”

  “I do not know what you mean,” the Princess murmured.

  “I’m sure you do. You have access to Dr. Forester’s office, where his vault is located. The guards will let you in. They have been instructed to do so. You will procure for us a specific formula, called Deep-Sleep, in return for which your brother Mario will be surrendered to you.”

  The Princess straightened in her chair. Peter Baron saw a tear glint in her eye. She apparently understood enough about Deep-Sleep to know that there was great danger to her country if it fell into enemy hands.

  “I cannot do it!” she whispered.

  The heavy-set man leaned closer to her, smiling for those around the table who might be gazing curiously at this mismatched pair.

  “You have no choice! If you do not do as I say, your brother – your twin – will be dead within the hour.”

  The two gazed at each other. The Princess broke. “Yes,” she said finally, lowering her head in agony. “As you say.”

  The heavy-set man patted her hand. “Good.”

  She withdrew her hand angrily. Her face flamed. “Don’t touch me!”

  Beyond the two at the Princess’s table, Peter Baron saw another man enter the dining room, a man similar in dress and appearance to the kidnapper with the Princess. He was dressed in a rumpled cheap suit, and he wore enormous shoes. He was taller than the first, all bone and muscle.

  Baron started to rise. Chadwick’s calculated risk had failed to pay off. The alleged contact had become a pick-up. He must abort it immediately.

  “Our limousine is outside. We go now, Principessa. You understand?”

  The Princess looked about her in sudden terror. She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were white. But she whispered, “Yes.”

  Peter Baron silently cursed Chadwick’s excessive optimism and lack of foresight. As Baron debated his next move, the R/T in his jacket pocket beeped warningly. That meant that Duke had spotted the trouble himself. Quickly Baron removed the cigarette case from his pocket, feeling a sudden dizziness as he did so. He looked down at the martini, shaking his head. Duke must have mixed him a double. Of course, the martini was for effect, so that no one would question his presence in the alcove. But why a double?

  Baron flicked the button of the radio-telephone and heard Duke’s agonized voice.

  “Peter! I.C.E. I recognized one of the men. He’s just come into the kitchen. Grab the Princess and . . .”

  There was a click and the R/T went dead. Baron was alone now. They had neutralized Duke. With difficulty he lifted his eyes to the Princess’s table, wondering what was wrong with his reflexes. The second man had joined the first; now both were helping her to her feet.

  The room began to spin under Peter Baron. His knees were weak. Willing himself not to fall, he clutched the table top, trying to think. He knew then that he had been taken in by the simplest trick of them all – a drugged cocktail. The watchers had in turn been watched.

  A high-pitched laugh came from behind him. He turned to look into a grinning face. He recognized the man. He had seen him before, in Berlin, on the case Chadwick had remembered. The laughing man was a known agent of I.C.E.

  “This isn’t your day, Mr. Baron!” he said, his eyes derisive.

  Peter Baron held his breath to keep from falling. He lashed out with a left feint, chopping down with the edge of his right hand on the man’s neck. The agent from I.C.E. fell back a step.

  He recovered and pounded a doubled-up fist into Baron’s stomach. Peter Baron gripped both hands together and brought them down on the nape of the man’s neck. The two of them tumbled to the floor.

  Baron’s vision kept getting fainter. He could barely see now. Black clouds of ink crept into his vision from all sides. He staggered to his feet, moving groggily.

  The man kicked out at him. Baron turned away, pushing aside the curtains of the alcove. Behind him he heard a scuffling sound. He tried to turn to ward off the blow, but his knees went to jelly, and he could neither see nor hear.

  “Princess!” he tried to cry out. “Stop! You’re in danger!”

  No words came out.

  A chair crashed down on his shoulders, splintering dismally. Blackness swallowed him up even before he hit the floor.

  4

  THE FORMULA

  La Principessa Paula Rimini sat silently in the back seat of the black Cadillac in front of Da Giacomino’s, trying to maintain her composure. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, but she determined not to show it.

  “Now we see the sights of Naples,” said the driver with a contented purr. He was the man who had conversed with her at the table inside. “At ten o’clock, you go into the vault, Princess.”

  “Exactly, Josip,” said the man seated beside Paula.

  Josip started the Cadillac, suddenly jubilant. “It’s going to be what the British call ‘a piece of cake’, Miko!”

  Miko eyed Paula. “Don’t be too sure, Josip. There is always the American.”

  “Nonsense. That one was well taken care of,” snorted Josip, pushing the Cadillac into the stream of traffic on the avenue. “I saw him go down in the alcove where he was watching us.”

  “And the fellow in the kitchen?” Miko wondered.

  Smiling, Josip drew his finger across his throat. “The Yank will be on Mr. Satin’s yacht in minutes. There he will remain until the exchange is made.”

  Paula Rimini shuddered. She made no sense of the conversation. Every nerve in her body was screaming. She felt as if she might slip into unconsciousness through sheer tension. But she held herself rigidly erect.

  “Relax, Princess,” said Josip, smiling coarsely as he drove the Cadillac through the heavy traffic. Paula could see his badly cared-for teeth. ‘’It’s some time before your turn comes.”

  Mike subsided in the cushioned back seat of the Cadillac. Paula closed her eyes. She wanted to cry, but she promised that these two boors would never see her shed a tear.

  It seemed ages before the hands of her wristwatch showed ten. She had not once spoken to either of the men as the limousine prowled through the tumbledown streets of night-time Naples. The men had conversed in a foreign tongue most of the time.

  While they had chattered, Paula had made up her mind. To give in to the mailed-fist tactics of these professional assassins was the easy way out. She was only a woman, but she was a Princess. She owed something to Italy. She would fight – like her father, Principe Filipo. Then, and only then, would Mario, her brother, be proud of her.

  “Here we are,” Miko growled. “Princess, when the guard stops us, you tell him you want to go in. He’ll let you through. Comprendete?”

  They drove up to the main gate of the chemical plant. She could see the big letters painted on the side of a long shedlike building near a double-height cyclone fence: CHIMICI CONSOLIDATI. Along the top of the fence ran two strands of electrified wire, strung high to prevent anyone from climbing over. Behind the cyclone fence an enormous Alsatian hound patrolled the grounds. He was trained to seize any stranger and not let go until commanded by his master.

  All this Paula knew because Oren Chadwick had told her.

  Josip, the driver, turned his head. “If the guard asks any suspicious questions, Princess, you tell him that Dr. Forester has regained consciousness and has requested you to come to the plant to pick up
a set of papers. That will explain why we’ll be going in to the office.”

  “Yes.” She had been in the plant many times. Each time she had been with Blake. The guards knew her. It would be quite easy for her to enter the grounds without special written orders. No one at Chimici Consolidati would knowingly refuse her entrance. The kidnappers had hit on a completely foolproof plan to obtain the formula for Deep-Sleep.

  The limousine pulled up to the gate. A bright spotlight shone directly in through the windshield. Josip, the driver, held up a hand to ward off the glare. Outside, a guard peered at them from behind the meshed steel gate. He drew out a handgun from a holster at his belt and gestured the driver to climb out of the car.

  Josip exchanged a glance with Miko. Miko nodded. Paula heard a rustling movement in the seat beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Miko had pulled a gun from his jacket and was screwing a short barrellike silencer to the end.

  She shivered.

  Josip approached the gate jauntily. “Good evening, guard!” he said with a bright smile. “In the car I have Princess Paula Rimini who wishes to enter the plant grounds to pick up a package for Dr. Forester.”

  The guard frowned. “I do not see the Princess.” He lifted the handgun and aimed it at Josip’s stomach. Josip ignored the weapon purposefully and waved his hand at the limousine.

  “Princess? Will you please show yourself?”

  Paula did not move. She was frozen with indecision. If she refused to appear, the guard would turn away the two kidnappers. They would not get the very important formula for Deep-Sleep.

  “Princess!” hissed Miko at her side. “Remember your twin!” She felt the painful jab of metal in her side. The silenced gun was pointed at her midriff.

  She swallowed. Heroic opposition to these men might mean Mario’s immediate death. She opened the door, leaned out, smiled, and waved at the guard. In the glare of the spotlight she recognized him – a middle-aged man with a bald head and a family of three children. She had seen him many times, once playing with his little daughter, a polite, dignified, dedicated man.

  If he let these men into the plant, what would happen to him? Would he be dismissed – disgraced?

  “Is it all right, Principessa?” he asked her pleadingly.

  Paula could not respond. No! she wanted to scream. It was not all right! Miko sidled closer, aiming the gun at her chest. “Talk! Or it’s the end of Mario!”

  “It’s all right!” she burst out suddenly, almost sobbing.

  Obediently, the guard crossed to the padlock which hung from the center of the closed gate. As he reached out with the key Paula jumped out of the car and ran toward him, waving her hands.

  “No! No! Don’t let them in!”

  The guard turned, stunned, caught in tableau. With the quickness of light, there were three hissing explosions next to Paula’s ear. The guard stiffened, gripping his chest with the hand which held the key. He lifted his handgun to fire. He never did. The handgun clattered loosely on the pavement as he slumped limply to the ground.

  Paula started to scream. Miko clapped his hand over her mouth, seizing her around the waist, holding her immobile against him. Angrily he signaled Josip with a jerk of the head. Josip ran for the gate, leaning down and clawing at the dead guard’s uniform. He had fallen so that his body was wedged between the gate and the pavement.

  Quickly Josip worked with his fingers through the meshed steel and twisted the guard so that his hand fell across his chest toward Josip. The key to the padlock dropped into Miko’s hand.

  He straightened and, with a savage twist, opened the padlock. Glancing over his shoulder, he gestured to Miko to bring the girl inside. Miko pushed Paula through the gate and the three of them stood in the darkness just outside the cone of light.

  “The Alsatian dog!” Miko breathed. “He’ll be on his way.”

  Josip pulled a coil of bare wire from his jacket. On the end Paula could see a group of hooks extending loosely in all directions. Josip glanced upward at the top of the electrified fence.

  In the shadows, the Alsatian growled. Paula closed her eyes in despair. Miko held her tightly, one hand still over her mouth, the other twisting up on her arm behind her. Pain flooded through her body. She thought she would faint.

  Josip made a sound in his throat. The dog growled again in the darkness Paula saw the thick rubber gloves which Josip had quickly slipped on his hands, and the flash of bare wire as the kidnapper threw the hooked end of the wire high into the air. It caught in the top wire of the cyclone fence and hung there, attached by the loose hooks.

  Now the Alsatian leaped out of the shadows, teeth flashing, mouth open, black lips snarling. He closed instantly on Josip – or what looked like Josip’s gloved hand. There was a terrifying discharge of electricity. The Alsatian glowed blue for one horrifying instant.

  Paula sobbed.

  The dog’s teeth tightened on the “glove,” and ten thousand volts of electricity poured into him from the hot wire at the top of the fence, through the false metal hand which Josip held in his insulating rubber glove. There was a sulfurous smell of burned flesh and singed fur and the dog fell over dead on his side. As he lay there, his hideously burned mouth fell slowly open.

  “Come on!” Josip cried, pulling the coil down from the charged wire, wrapping it quickly.

  They ran on into the silent plant.

  In the large room which Dr. Forester used as his main office, Josip switched on the light. Miko held the silenced gun in his hand, pointing it at Paula Rimini. The two men faced the Princess across Dr. Forester’s desk.

  “Quick, now!”

  “I must get the combination to the vault,” Paula said. “I know where it is.”

  “Hurry!”

  Paula lifted out the top righthand drawer of Dr. Forester’s desk. Attached by tape to the underside of the desk top she found the slip of paper, just where he had said it would be. In the light she read it.

  Miko crowded around behind her, looking over her shoulder. She could smell his breath, heavy with peppermint. She felt sick.

  “F-F-D-O,” the paper said.

  “That’s no combination!” Miko raged. “Are you trying to play games?”

  She shook her head. “It’s code.”

  Josip’s eyes brightened. “Each letter means a number. F is 6, the sixth letter of the alphabet. Is that it?”

  She wrote down “6-6-4-15.” Then she ran the numbers together and divided by 5. The sum was now 13,283. She separated the numbers into 13-28-3. With the slip of paper in her hand, she walked over to the corner of the office where the entrance to the vault stood.

  Miko followed, holding the silenced gun at her back.

  Shivering, she slid aside the door which covered the dial of the vault. Then she turned it to the specified numbers.

  Noiselessly the door swung open.

  “Hurry up!” Josip breathed nervously. “There’s still one more guard walking around somewhere.”

  Hope surged in her, but only briefly. She remembered the death of the guard at the gate. She did not want another man’s life on her conscience.

  One of the folders inside the vault was stamped. DEEP-SLEEP – TOP SECRET. She lifted it out and stood with it clutched to her bosom.

  Josip stared at her. “Is that the formula?”

  She hoped her voice did not tremble. “It says Deep-Sleep.”

  Josip leafed through its pages. He cursed under his breath. “Miko! Can you read this?”

  Miko riffled through the folder. “No.” His eyes came up to Paula’s. He moved menacingly toward her, thrusting the gun muzzle into her side. Perspiration crawled out on her forehead. “if this isn’t it, Princess, your brother is a dead man!”

  She closed her eyes.

  Josip had lifted a fountain pen flashlight from his jacket to examine the inside of the vault. “What’s that?”

  Miko kept the gun pressed into Paula’s side, and pushed her around in front of him so he could see into
the vault. “I see it. It’s a film canister.”

  “Mr. Satin told me the formula was on film,” Josip grated.

  “Take it!” snapped Miko. “The Princess is playing games with us!”

  Paula almost cried. The last safeguard had failed. The real formula of Deep-Sleep was on film in the tiny, pencil-thick, inch-long canister which Josip now held. The folder of papers was a decoy.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Josip shouted at her.

  She bit her lip.

  “Of course it is,” Josip cried. “Let’s go!”

  Miko took the canister from Josip and held it in his left hand.

  Paula reached out for the film. “It’s mine! My brother – ”

  “The film is what we came for, Princess. You’ll see your brother again sometime – if you’re lucky!”

  Josip laughed.

  Miko pointed the gun at Paula. She stood there with sinking heart. The two men backed from her, carrying the precious film toward the doorway.

  “That’s far enough!” snapped a voice from outside the office.

  Miko whirled with the gun. Josip dropped away, going to the floor, reaching for a weapon in his jacket. Paula saw one of the guards in the doorway, his weapon pointed at Miko.

  Miko fired first, the silenced shot hissing out. The guard fired once at Miko, and then twisted to shoot Josip. He fired again and again at Josip, who had almost gotten out his own gun.

  Miko fell dead.

  Paula dropped to her knees and picked up the film canister from the floor where it had rolled out of the dead Miko’s hand.

  Her face was flooded with relief. “You’ve saved my life!” she told the guard.

  Then she saw that he was slowly wilting to the floor. He went down with a crash, and did not move.

  Paula screamed and ran out into the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Her apartment was quiet and dark. She sat a long time, trying to think what she must do. The men who had kidnapped her brother had never intended to let him go. They had meant to steal the film from her as soon as she had taken it from the vault. She could never trust them again. She did have one thing in her favor. Because she had the film of the formula for Deep-Sleep, she had the power to buy back her brother.