“I know, darling,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be selfish.”
“When this is over maybe we can take a little vacation,” I said. “It would be nice to slip into bed without Zhizov, Gorodin, and Knox Wamow joining us.”
Rona put on a shocked look. “I should hope so!” Then she smiled at me and it was all right again.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Pray that one of the suitcase bombs is put aboard so I can move in. Otherwise I’ll have to go after Gorodin. Fast and neat. Because somewhere Zhizov and Warnow are waiting with the button that can blow up most of the U.S. If I get careless enough, somebody could send them a message not to wait for the deadline.”
“What can I do, Nick?”
“Stay out of the way,” I snapped, then softened. “Rona, from here on things can get frantic and deadly. I’m trained for this kind of action and you’re not. I want you to go back to our stateroom now and lock yourself in. Don’t open the door unless I give you the signal.”
“All right,” she pouted.
I sent Rona on her way. She was good company. And helpful. But not for this phase of the operation.
I stepped back out on deck to have a better view of the gangplank. As darkness fell, we prepared to sail, and not one suitcase had been put on board. We moved out of Willemstad Harbor past the swinging pontoon bridge called Queen Emma, and I decided I was going to have to confront Mr. Gorodin. Then I heard the launch.
It was a fast twin outboard, running without lights. When it pulled alongside, somebody dropped a sling down to it. A squat, bald man in the launch seemed to be giving the orders. His men lifted a dark, rectangular object into the sling. It was a suitcase; and I was laying odds that it was just like the one taken from Juan Escobar.
When the sling began to rise I moved aft along the rail to see who was doing the hoisting. It was my friend Fyodor Gorodin, still wearing his ice-cream suit, and directing a couple of the non-Latin crew members. Reaching under the tail of my pullover shirt, I slipped Wilhelmina out of the belt holster. With the familiar Luger gripped in my hand I took a step toward Gorodin and his friends.
One step was all I managed. Something slammed into the back of my head, and the deck swung up and hit me like a giant fist. There was an immediate rush of sound in my head that seemed to be sucked back through my skull as everything went silent and black.
Nine
Strangely, at first I was only aware that my nose itched. I tried to reach up and scratch it, but my hands wouldn’t move. I opened my eyes. That’s when I became aware of my head. It hurt like one big tooth with the nerve exposed to a blast of cold air. I shut my eyes again and opened them slowly. The pain had not gone but my surroundings were coming into focus.
I was stretched out on my back on top of a narrow bunk in a small inside stateroom. I could see that my feet were bound together with several turns of adhesive tape. My hands were crossed at the wrists behind my back; they were also taped together. On the bunk across from me was Rona Volstedt, wearing a bright striped blouse and a pair of flared slacks. Her hands and feet were also taped.
“Glad to see you are back with us, Mr. Carter,” a heavy voice growled from somewhere at the front of the cabin. With an effort I turned my head in the direction of the voice. Fyodor Gorodin was lounging in a vinyl chair pulled out to face the two bunks. “I don’t suppose there is any point in calling you Mr. Hunter,” he continued. “That masquerade was over almost as soon as it began.”
In front of the cabin door a young man with neatly combed brown hair sat on a folding metal chair next to a card table. I recognized the Luger he held pointed at me — Wilhelmina. I moved my arms a fraction of an inch and was not happy to feel a lack of pressure where pressure should have been. The stiletto was gone. I saw it resting under Gorodin’s belt.
“Yes, Carter,” Gorodin rumbled, “We have your weapons. And your… ‘wife.’ Perhaps you will talk to us now.”
“I don’t follow you,” I said, giving it the old college try. “My name is Nicholas Hunter.”
Gorodin turned to the young man and snapped, “Boris, give me the card.” He snatched a five-by-seven file card from Boris’ hand and read aloud. “ ‘Nick Carter, AXE agent N3. Rating: Killmaster. Reports to David Hawk, Washington, D.C., director of AXE.’ Don’t you think our people know you by reputation. Carter? We knew when your friend Miss Volstedt phoned AXE that they were sending an agent. Perhaps if our comrades in Los Angeles had recognized you, they would have been more cautious in their pursuit.
“Not only your reputation, but your face is known to some of us who have been given copies of your photo, Carter. The captain recognized you when you came aboard with the woman in Antigua. He informed me by radio, and you have been watched ever since. When I came aboard, we knew you would make your move soon, and we were ready for you.”
“All right, Gorodin,” I said, abandoning the game, “what do you want?”
“You know my name too I see. Well, that was to be expected. What I want is very simple. First, I want you to tell me all that you know and suspect about our operations. I presume you got the name of the Gaviota from Juan Escobar. We saw him picked up in Fort Lauderdale.”
Quickly I calculated that there wasn’t anything we knew that would come as a surprise to Gorodin, so I laid it out for him while using another part of my mind to look for a way out.
“We know Anton Zhizov is heading your show,” I said. “It was obvious, since he signed the ransom telegram. We know what kind of bombs you’re using, how you’ve been getting them into our cities. We suspect that a scientist named Knox Wamow is making them for you. That’s it.”
“Very good,” Gorodin said. “That answers the easy part. Now I want you to tell me about AXE. Of course, the organization will be of no importance once we take over, still it will simplify matters if we are familiar with its operations. You may begin by telling me the number of agents now actively assigned.”
I said nothing. My head throbbed. I tried to think.
“Carter, I have no patience with games,” Gorodin barked, all semblance of amiability disappearing. “I can make you talk — I can make any man talk — but it might be faster to get answers from the woman.”
“She doesn’t know anything about AXE,” I said quickly. “This is a one-time assignment for her.”
Gorodin lunged from his chair and stepped forward with remarkable speed for a big man. With the back of one hairy hand he lashed me across the mouth. I tasted blood.
“Silence,” he ordered “When I am through with the woman, you will have another chance to speak.”
As the hulking Russian turned from me and stood over Rona, my pain-fogged brain recalled the trick belt Stewart had been so proud of in Special Effects. The one that exploded in the bad guy’s hands when he took it away from you to examine the obviously phony buckle. Why hadn’t Gorodin found it? I looked down and saw the answer. My sport shirt covered it.
I tried to squirm around on the bunk to expose the belt. Young Boris, sitting by the door, motioned to me with the barrel of the Luger to lie still. Even if I had been able to expose the belt and Gorodin fell for it, Rona and I would still be securely bound with a gun covering us and a shipload of decidedly hostile crewmen. I lay still, my mind racing for an alternative.
Gorodin looked directly down into Ronas face. From my position I could see that her blue eyes were wide and frightened, but she had not lost her control.
“It is your turn, Miss Volstedt,” he said, “to tell me about AXE.”
“What Nick said Is true,” Rona said levelly. “I know nothing about AXE.”