The Mammoth Book of Short Spy Novels (Mammoth Books) Page 39

  At the controls of the Cessna, Peter Baron gazed out through the Plexiglas windshield at the dark blue of the Adriatic beneath him. Ahead, the mass of the Yugoslavian coast loomed up darkly. He glanced at Duke, seated behind him with the Princess. No one had said a word for many minutes, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

  “Montenegro,” Baron said, gesturing downward with his hand.

  The Princess craned her neck and gazed into the distance. “Mario,” she whispered.

  Duke said reassuringly: “You’ll see him soon.”

  “Any alien craft about?” Baron asked Duke uneasily.

  “Not a thing.”

  “No helicopter visible?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t trust these people. I’d hate to be gunned down so close to our objective.”

  Duke leaned over and lifted a modified C.E.T.M.O. machine pistol from the deck of the ship. He patted it lovingly. “We’re waiting.”

  Peter Baron flew on, checking his compass again, marking off his location on the chart spread out beside him.

  “Twenty minutes to go.”

  Duke looked out into the darkened sky, scanning the heavens for foreign objects.

  Below him Baron could see the flatlands sloping gradually upward into the steeper hills of central Montenegro. In the distance there were higher mountains, jagged against the starlit sky. Serbia.

  “On the nose,” he said calmly, eighteen minutes later, pointing through the windshield. Duke came up beside him.

  “Mt. Krstaca.”

  A tiny pinpoint of orange light shone from one of the humps of mountain below them It was a bonfire, exactly as Mr. Satin had said.

  Lowering the flaps, he sent the Cessna curving downward. He kept looking for the flat area of the landing strip. When he had completed half a l8-degree turn, he suddenly spotted the strip in a clearing. To hit the field at the speed he was traveling was about as easy as diving off a hundred-foot board into a teacup.

  “Here we go. I want you fully armed when we land,” Baron instructed Duke. “But don’t shoot unless you get a signal from me. Understand?”

  “Right.”

  “Have you got the black box?”

  “Yes. In the suitcase.”

  “Hang onto it.”

  Duke nodded grimly.

  The mountains loomed up all around them. The Cessna kept losing altitude. Baron straightened up and aimed for the end of the tiny strip. The trees skimmed by below, and more trees rose ahead, blotting out the sky. On both sides, ahead, and underneath, there were pines. At the far end of the strip, the bonfire burned cheerfully, sending smoke gouting into the sky.

  The Cessna balked, dropped, steadied, and then touched the ground with a squeal of tires. Baron ran the ship quickly across the bumpy ground and came to a stop. He opened the cabin door, drew his handgun from his holster, and stepped down. He looked all around. There was no one in sight.

  Duke followed, carrying the black suitcase and the machine pistol. When the Princess appeared at the door of the cabin, Baron lifted her down gently.

  Suddenly at the side of the airstrip a brilliant spotlight blazed on. A voice bellowed out.

  “You are extremely punctual, Mr. Baron. Please do step out so we can see you.”

  “OK,” Baron whispered to Duke. “That’s Mr. Satin on the bullhorn.” He turned to the Princess. “Scared?”

  “Frightened to death,” she breathed.

  He took her hand. “Let’s go. It’s the only way.”

  She straightened and moved with him into the blinding glare of light.

  After all the complications in getting there, the exchange was ridiculously simple. In the pines on one side of the strip stood Mr. Satin and his party behind the enormous portable spotlight. Peter Baron and his party waited, armed and alert beside the Cessna.

  Two men appeared from behind the spotlight and stood at the edge of the pines.

  “It’s Mario!” cried the Princess, tearfully happy.

  “You’re sure?” Baron asked quickly.

  Paula froze him with a look. “He’s my twin brother!”

  The two men walked forward. The man behind Mario did not have a gun. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, like a Balkan intellectual.

  “Let the Princess cross to meet my man, please,” Mr. Satin ordered.

  “Princess.” Baron urged her forward. “Do you have the film?”

  She lifted her shoe and removed the film from the heel. “Here.”

  “Go on.”

  When Mario and the guard had reached a point halfway to the Cessna, the Princess was already walking toward them.

  “The man with Mario Rimini is a chemist, Mr. Baron,” intoned Mr. Satin. “He must examine the film. I do not trust you.”

  Baron laughed. “I’m hurt.”

  Paula Rimini handed the film to the man who stood by Mario. Mario took Paula swiftly in his arms; they embraced. Paula was sobbing; her quiet crying was the only sound in the remote wooded area of southern Yugoslavia.

  The chemist turned and signaled toward the spotlight with a wave of the hand.

  “All right!” Mr. Satin’s voice was jovial. “You may have your man, Mr. Baron!”

  The chemist walked rapidly toward the spotlight. Arm in arm, Paula and Mario ran across toward the Cessna. By the wing of the ship, Peter Baron crouched, his gun aimed, waiting for some surprise move by Mr. Satin.

  The chemist vanished into the darkness behind the spotlight. Almost as if that were a long-awaited signal, a volley of gunshots roared out from the pines.

  Baron pulled the trigger on his handgun and blasted the spotlight out. He had anticipated such a move. There was good reason to suspect Mr. Satin would try to destroy all participants in the ransom plot: if there were anyone alive to tell of the exchange, I.C.E. would be in danger of exposure. It was Mr. Satin’s aim to wipe out both the Riminis, Baron, and Duke.

  The Princess and the Prince stumbled into the shelter of the Cessna.

  “Duke!” cried Baron. “Now!”

  “Right!” Duke’s voice came from somewhere behind the Cessna.

  Baron watched the woods where the chemist had disappeared and from where Mr. Satin’s voice had come. Streaks of gunfire kept erupting out of the darkness. Then, surprisingly, a brilliant flash of blue light punctuated the darkness and immediately went out.

  “Good work!” shouted Baron, blinking against the dazzling after-image.

  “What was that?” Paula asked.

  Duke ran toward the Cessna, carrying his black suitcase.

  “A little gadget of Duke’s,” Baron explained proudly. “A remote control device for detonating explosive paste. The canister holding the film was smeared with modified DX paste. The explosion destroyed the formula.”

  “Are there copies?” Mario Rimini asked.

  “Yes,” Baron said. “I have the original. You see?” He opened his hand. “What Mr. Satin got was an exact copy, set up for sacrifice. Come on, we’ve got to get into the ship.”

  A scream of anguish came from the woods. Mr. Satin was cursing volubly over the destruction of the formula for Deep-Sleep. The bullhorn came to life. “Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred!” Mr. Satin’s voice bellowed.

  Peter Baron frowned. It sounded almost as if . . .

  Mario Rimini turned, grabbed the film out of Peter Baron’s hand, ran quickly toward the Cessna, and leaped up into the cabin.

  “Duke! Quick! Stop him!” Peter Baron cried, understanding instantly what had happened.

  Before Duke could react, however, the cabin door slammed shut, locked from inside by Mario Rimini.

  “Mario!” screamed Paula. “What are you doing?”

  The Cessna starter ground and the engine burst into life. Quickly the engine revved tip.

  “Into the trees!” Baron cried. “When he moves the ship out, we’ll be in the open!”

  The three of them hurried across the uneven ground to shelter. Rifle fire burst from the spot where Mr. Satin
and his men stood. The Cessna started down the strip, wobbling from side to side. At the far end, by the still burning bonfire, it stopped and turned around. The Princess was sobbing disconsolately. Baron held her in his arms.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Post-hypnotic suggestion. He’s been brainwashed. That phrase from the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ was the trigger mechanism that put him under their control again. He knows how to fly. I should have anticipated their maneuver. He’s on his way to some prearranged spot where Mr. Satin will pick up the film.”

  “Oh, my God!” sobbed Princess Paula Rimini. “My own brother!”

  The ship slammed across the strip and took off. From the darkness across the strip Mr. Satin’s voice drifted out gratingly. “Checkmate, Mr. Baron, is it not?”

  Baron did not answer. He led the Princess and Duke quietly into the trees.

  7

  THE ROAD BACK

  Within five minutes Peter Baron had taken the others down the pine-clad slope and into a small field below the landing strip. Above them, a continuing volley of rifle fire echoed through the woods. Apparently Mr. Satin was content simply to fire after the three of them without effecting pursuit

  They sank into the grass, exhausted.

  The Princess was in tears. “Mario! He’s not himself! Mr. Baron, what will happen to him?”

  “Posthypnotic suggestion will soon wear off, Princess. He’ll be perfectly all right.”

  “But I’ll never see him again,” she sobbed. “My own twin brother – a traitor!”

  Peter Baron slipped his arm around her comfortingly. “Not a traitor. A dupe. Besides, there is always hope.”

  “Not anymore,” she sighed. “He’s the only thing I have left in the world. If he goes . . .”

  “He isn’t gone for good,” Peter Baron said calmly.

  Her eyes suddenly blazed with anger. “You can be calm about this. To you it’s just a job that went wrong. That’s all. You don’t care a bit. But there’s a human being involved. My brother. How can you be so ice-cold and aloof?”

  “I tell you, it isn’t all over, Princess.” Peter Baron squeezed the girl by the shoulder.

  Duke Farinese glanced up from the black box, where he was turning knobs and switching toggles.

  “Why did you make a copy of the formula, Peter? Mario would have had no reason to steal the ship if the only film had been blown up.”

  “It’s best that I.C.E. think there’s only one copy of Deep-Sleep, still.” Peter smiled. “Particularly when the one they think is real isn’t.”

  Duke’s eyes lighted up. “You mean Mario Rimini has flown off with a worthless film?”

  “Hardly worthless, Duke,” Baron said blandly. “There are six lovely color pictures of a nude dancing girl in unforgettable poses.”

  “You’re simply amazing, Peter!”

  “We do have to bring the Cessna back though – for our own survival.” Peter Baron leaned over the black box. “Duke, I want you to show the Princess what you’re working on.”

  “I haven’t the time, Peter,” Duke frowned. “It’s already five minutes plus forty seconds. In another four minutes, we will have lost contact completely.”

  “As you prefer,” Baron said quietly. “I’ll tell her. You see the black box, Princess?”

  “Yes, of course,’ she responded. “I’ve watched him carry it with him in that suitcase since he left the plane. What is it?”

  “It’s quite a complex little gadget. But to make it perfectly understandable to you, let me say it’s a remote-control automatic-pilot for the Cessna.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “All I have to do to bring my airplane back here and land it is to guide it myself – with the black box.”

  “But my brother is flying the ship!”

  “When the remote pilot takes over, the manual controls are no longer operative. No matter what Mario tries to do, I can bring him down. We brought the remote kit along because we had suspected Mr. Satin would try to hijack the plane somehow. I never thought he would use your brother! Have you got the Cessna meshed in yet, Duke?”

  “Yes.” Duke handed the box to Baron.

  Sitting in front of it, he reached out and began moving the knobs and watching the needles of the dials.

  Duke raised his head. “I think I hear the sound of an airplane engine.”

  “So do I,” Baron said. “I have to land her before Mr. Satin realizes that I control the plane.”

  “I think he’s already taken up the trail,” Duke muttered nervously, cupping one ear in his hand.

  “You’d better go out and set up that fire wall at the edge of the woods,” Baron ordered. “That will prevent I.C.E. from outflanking us.”

  “Right.” Duke moved off.

  Baron leaned over the black box, concentrating intently.

  “Are you sure the plane is safe?” Paula asked shakily. “Nothing must happen to my brother.”

  “I’ve tested the Cessna before, Princess,” Baron said. “Trust me.”

  The throb of the Cessna’s engine grew louder. When Baron looked up, he could see the red and green navigating lights blinking in the distant sky. He had once brought the Cessna down safely, but only under test conditions. No one had been searching the woods for him. And the plane had not had a live passenger in it as it had now. His hands shook on the dials.

  Gunfire crashed in the woods. Then Mr. Satin’s voice rose above the sound of the airplane.

  “Stop!” he cried to his men through the bullhorn. “Don’t leave the woods! Shoot from cover!”

  Bullets began whipping through the grass around Baron.

  “Lie down flat!” he cried to the Princess. Paula hugged the ground. Duke Farinese crawled back toward them out of the darkness. He raised the C.E.T.M.O. machine pistol to his shoulder, aimed at the woods which he had just departed, and blazed away.

  “Done?” Baron asked cryptically.

  “Done,” Duke reported.

  “I’ll bring her down.”

  “Any time.”

  “You wait until I tell you, Duke.”

  “But of course.”

  The Cessna lowered slowly. Baron watched the dials on the black box, glancing every so often into the sky to be sure the ship was lined up at its proper attitude.

  The firing from the woods increased in intensity. The shadow of a man darted out into the open, high and thin above the jagged silhouette of the fir trees. Duke Farinese stitched bullets across the darkness. The man dropped in his tracks.

  “Don’t go into the open!” shouted Mr. Satin in a frenzy. “We’ll get them when they board the ship!”

  Silently Baron congratulated Mr. Satin. It took an intelligent man to realize when he was outmaneuvered. The I.C.E. chief would simply wait until his three adversaries were in a position where they could not defend themselves, then he would strike.

  The plane came in for a landing and rambled onto the field, swaying from side to side. Baron slowed it to a graceful stop. Idling, the plane hulked not 40 yards away.

  “Now, Duke,” Baron commanded quietly. “Detonate it.”

  Duke pushed the button plunger he held in his hand. Instantly there was a jarring explosion from the edge of the woods. Dirt and rocks flew into the air. Branches tumbled down. There was smoke everywhere.

  “A simple dynamite charge,” Baron told Paula Rimini, lifting her to her feet. Behind the screen of smoke from the dynamite the three of them raced across the grass to the Cessna.

  Peter Baron pounded on the cabin door.

  Magically, it opened.

  They climbed in. A dazed Mario Rimini was standing there, completely astonished to find himself alone in the ship, not remembering a thing he had done since the trigger phrase had lapsed him into post-hypnotic suggestion.

  Baron took the precious film canister from him and put it in his pocket. Duke Farinese slammed the door and Peter climbed under the controls of the Cessna. The Princess and her brother fell into e
ach other’s arms again, sitting side by side. Paula burst out crying, this time with happiness.

  The Cessna rose and climbed into the sky.

  It was early dawn when Peter Baron circled Naples Airport and requested permission to land. After a lengthy wait, he was cleared for landing and told to report immediately to the Tower as soon as he was on the ground.

  “An investigation by the Italian Air Commission,” Baron murmured prophetically.

  He landed the Cessna in a fresh morning breeze, and the four of them alighted and walked across the macadam to the Control Tower.

  Leaning on the wire mesh fence separating the observers from the passengers was Oren Chadwick. The American was smiling inscrutably behind his pipe.

  “You’ve a good deal of red tape to unwind with the Air Commission,” he told Baron cheerfully. “But I’ve managed to smooth the way a bit. Have you that little surprise you promised me?”

  “Right here.” Baron reached into his pocket and handed over the film canister.

  Chadwick flipped it open and rolled out the film, which he held up to the sun. “I say!” he marveled. “Pity your opposite number didn’t get this! Wouldn’t it have rocked him back on his heels!” He tucked it into his tweed jacket quickly. “Not a word you understand, until the Pentagon and Dr. Forester confer over the original.”

  “I’ll make a confidential report soonest,” Baron said.

  “Oh, quite. And then we’ll be in touch immediately about adjustments.”

  Baron smiled at Chadwick’s circumlocution regarding the all-important object called money.

  “Oh, by the way, Signorina,” Chadwick said, turning to Paula Rimini.

  “Principessa, Chadwick,” Baron corrected. “Princess, this is Mr. Oren Chadwick, a friend.”

  “I’m sure,” said the Princess, nodding politely.

  “I’ve a message for you from Dr. Forester.”

  Paula’s face went pale. She put her hand to her chest. “Is he worse?”

  “He’s conscious now,” Chadwick said. “He wants to be sure you come to see him right away.”

  Paula blinked, trying to hold back tears of relief.