The film focused on the Forest Ranger’s hand. Now, instead of a snowball, he held a grenade. The camera switched to a shelf of ice and snow — “More needles and columns,” King explained — and showed snowballs being thrown at the shelf without effect. The hand pulled the grenade pin and threw the grenade. It exploded in a white puff and, in a delayed reaction, the entire shelf split apart.
“I’m beginning to understand,” I admitted, “but that would hardly stop an army.”
“This will.”
The boys in Utah had gone all out. On the screen was a seventy-five-millimeter Howitzer being loaded for action. The target was one whole face of a mountain that looked about a mile away.
“An explosive shell,” King said. “What you want is shock to break the supporting layer. Of course, as you will see, these men did not know exactly how much shock.”
The Howitzer fired. The screen showed an almost invisible hit on the mountain, and then, in a rapid transformation, the mountain seemed to shake. Ton after ton fell from the high peaks to lower ones, collecting more weight and speed. Around the base of the mountain, a white skirt grew.
Suddenly the camera wheeled. On the next mountain another avalanche was falling. The same was true of the third mountain in the range, all from the one artillery shell. And the snow from the first avalanche continued to fall and move towards the camera.
“The snow is approaching at about 120 miles per hour,” King commented.
Again the camera turned. This time to the mountain directly behind the Howitzer. The peak was hidden in a haze of snow powder as tons of snow cascaded downward toward the men and the cannon. The camera became agitated. Men could be seen running. Others stopped to strap on their skis.
Two tidal waves came together. The men furthest from the camera disappeared first. The Howitzer bounced like a toy into the air. The camera swung wildly, and the screen went black.
King leaned on the END RUN button. On the screen again was the illuminated map of Snowman.
“They understood the power they were releasing but they made two errors,” he said as he took the tape off. “Their crystal analysis was nonexistent, and they fired from the ground. Thus, they no longer exist. Our Cobras are fitted with explosive grenades or rockets. We know exactly how much of what ammunition to use because our computer constantly analyzes the snow on every approach to Snowman. Intruders are wiped out and buried at the same time. Our Cobras, operating from the air, return untouched. You see, our secret weapon is snow, and the humorous thing is that no approaching enemy would ever guess our secret until it was too late.”
“That is probably true,” I confessed. AXE was going to send in its raiding party by foot. The whole attack force would be erased according to King’s plan. “A very ingenious system.”
“That’s not all of it. The avalanche system eliminates the strike by force. There is also infiltration to deal with, the threat of one man insinuating himself into Snowman as a guest. So I have computerized a system to guard against spies as well. This,” King’s eyebrows rose, “you may find most fascinating of all.”
From his jacket pocket he took a punched computer card.
“On this card is a portrait of Raki Senevres. That is, everything we have learned about you from my own direct observation and from Vera’s experiences with you. Physical characteristics are noted by only up to a point so that disguise won’t mislead us. However, your body build and special skills, physical and mental, such as languages, driving, and murder, everything absolutely known is here. We will see literally whether Raki Senevres is actually someone else, someone who has been sent here to dispose of us and whom we should dispose of first. My daughter wants to believe you are what you seem. I,” he tapped his lapel with the card, “take a slightly different tack. I believe you are what you seem, also, and you seem to me far too competent an operator to have suddenly come from nowhere, the way Raki Senevres has.”
I looked at the punch card, and my back crawled with fear. I shrugged.
“You’re right, I’m interested. Go ahead.”
King fed the card into the Honeywell’s scanner. Again, the map vanished from the view screen. Vera’s eyes slid from me to the screen. She may have loved me, but she was a Borgia. She was curious, too.
The screen split in two. Line by line, moving from the top down, the computer was building a silhouette of me on the left half of the screen, a literal silhouette of my body with notations of weight, height, body type, skull shape, musculature. Combat experience and linguistic abilities followed with social skills and general knowledge. The psychiatric profile was heavily emphasized, and I knew enough Freud to read that I was independent, genital, and Oedipally antagonistic.
“Now, let’s see who matches,” King set a new magnetic tape in motion.
On the right-hand side of the screen, silhouettes and statistics flashed by.
“You see, I have been preparing for a man like you, and I’ve created a special memory bank of the most dangerous men in the world. I looked for men with very particular talents, men of courage and intelligence, men who worked for any agency with any possible reason for destroying us. In the bank are agents of the FBI, CIA, and military intelligence, but also agents from every European and South American intelligence group, including Cuba and the USSR. Since the United States has reached a detente with the People’s Republic of China, I’ve also added their top agents to the list. Not to mention the very best assassins from our natural business competitors...”
A silhouette stayed on the right side of the screen. There was a match.
“I’m flattered,” King said, as he read the name of the match. “Nick Carter. Well, Mr. Carter, now would you say Snowman’s protective system is complete?”
Fifteen
“I don’t understand,” I said, as King casually laid his hand over the butt of his Luger. Vera edged away from me.
“Nick Carter, the best agent from the very best agency. Killmaster, the man the Russians and the Mafia have a $100,000 reward for,” King introduced me to my name. “You understand very well, just a little too late.”
I looked at the screen.
“But it’s not a match. It says Carter is six foot three. I’m not that tall.”
“Carter is a very feared man. Your enemies have given you an extra inch in their imaginations just from fright.”
“You have no picture of Carter?”
“Not a good one, and it doesn’t matter. The incredible reaction time, the command of languages, the intelligence and personality, body structure, everything else matches. Who but Nick Carter would have dared take on the Mafia by himself? I should have thought of you immediately.”
I felt the small barrel of a Beretta in my ribs.
“It was my mistake, father. I’ll take care of him,” she said. Her face was taut with hate.
“Your father’s made a mistake,” I insisted.
“The computer chose you. I only pushed the button,” he answered equably.
I could have disarmed both Vera and her father, but the room’s guards were listening and cutting off all escape routes with M-16s.
“Then the computer is wrong. All I know is that I am Raki Senevres.”
“To eliminate Nick Carter,” King allowed, “I am willing to kill Raki Senevres. You’re dead right now, young man.”
“I’ll be executioner, Raki. You’ll be sorry you ever tried to use me,” Vera twisted the barrel.
“The computer is wrong. You can see one discrepancy already in the height. The ‘brain’ doesn’t demand a perfect match, right?” I argued. “Keep running through the memory bank. Let’s see who else I am.”
My voice was full of righteous anger. Vera’s gun was still shoved in my side, but there was hesitation in her eyes.