Assassination Brigade

Seventeen

My vision was blurred by a brilliant, blinding, white light that was shining directly into my eyes. I must have been unconscious a long time. I thought I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move my arms or legs. Slowly, as my vision cleared, I saw that I was in a stark white room, like a hospital room, and that the blinding light was coming from a fixture set in the ceiling directly above me. I was lying on my back, and my arms and legs were strapped down securely by leather straps.

I opened my mouth and tried to yell at the top of my lungs, but I made only a hoarse croak. Even so, my sound brought four burly men, in white jackets that hospital orderlies wear, close around me. They raised the upper portion of my bed so that I was sitting upright.

From my new position, I could see two other people in the room besides the four “orderlies.” One was my companion of the previous night. Suzanne Henley, her red hair flaming, looked beautiful in a white nurses uniform and low-heeled white shoes. The other was a white-haired man, probably in his sixties, who was dressed in a white smock, white trousers, white shoes, and white gloves. He was sitting in a wheelchair. I knew instinctively that I was now inside the Rejuvenation Health Spa and that this man was Dr. Frederick Bosch.

The doctor rolled his wheelchair closer to my bed and gave me a thin-lipped, icy smile. Suzanne Henley gazed at me briefly without expression and turned away.

“Welcome to our spa,” the doctor said, his voice thick with a German accent, “although I’m afraid this visit may not improve your health.” He paused and then added, “Mr. Nick Carter.”

His recognition of me gave me a start, and I struggled futilely for a moment against the bonds that held me tightly.

The doctor gave a wave with his hand. “It’s quite, quite useless to struggle, Mr. Carter. You are powerless here. Besides, why should you be anxious to leave when you’ve wanted to come here so much?”

He spun around in his wheelchair and ordered the four white-coated attendants to take me upstairs.

The men quickly rolled me, still strapped to the bed, across the room to a large elevator that appeared immediately when one of them pressed a button. They pushed me into the elevator, and we were joined by Suzanne Henley and the doctor in his wheelchair. No one spoke as the elevator lifted soundlessly. We rode up what seemed to be several stories before the elevator stopped, the doors opened, and I was taken into a huge, open room.

As I looked around the room, I saw that it was as large as a square city-block and glassed in from floor to ceiling on all four sides. We were on top of the spa, and since that establishment sat on the peak of a towering mountain, there was a view through the glass wall on every side down into deep valleys. It was a breathtaking sight, especially in full daylight with the sun shining on the snow.

But there was an awesome sight within the room — an enormous humming, buzzing computer in the center that occupied most of the space. Lights from the computer flashed and blinked continuously, and the machine made a steady, quiet whirring sound. Otherwise, since the room was obviously soundproofed, it was eerily silent. The doctor made a motion with his hand, and the four men rolled my bed closer to the machine. When I was in place there, one of the men worked a crank at the foot of my bed and I was suddenly sitting upright, still strapped, with my back up and my legs down as if I were in a chair.

The four men returned to the elevator and left us when the doctor signalled with his hand again.

Suzanne Henley stood beside the computer and began to twist and turn dials while the doctor scooted over in his wheelchair so that he was directly in front of me.

“There it is, Mr. Carter,” he said with a flourish of his hand, indicating the computer, “the answer that you have been seeking. There is the power behind what you once called the ‘Assassination Brigade.’ There it is, and you still don’t know what it means, do you?”

He was right. I didn’t know the meaning of the computer, nor how it had created a world crisis.

“Who are you?” I asked. “What’s this all about?”

The doctor spun away from me, and I noticed for the first time that his wheelchair was fully mechanized, apparently operated by controls that he could manipulate without manual effort. He laughed gleefully as he whizzed once around the room. Then he returned to where I sat.

“Let me introduce myself,” he said, making a mock bow from the waist. “Introduce myself by my real name, not the one everyone else knows me by, Dr. Frederick Bosch. It is a name that will be familiar to you — I am Dr. Felix Von Alder. I see the raised eyebrows, Mr. Carter. You know my wife and my three lovely daughters. But that is only a minor part of the story.”

He paused for a moment and regarded me quizzically. “Before I tell you my story, Mr. Carter, I want you to understand why I am telling you. You see, you’re now in my power — physically, and soon you will be in my power totally — physically and mentally. Nothing can stop that, I assure you, and you will soon see for yourself. But before that time I want you to hear what happened. You, with your past achievements, are a proper audience for the brilliant tale I have to tell. I wanted you here alive for this moment, because you are someone who can truly appreciate what I have succeeded in doing. Otherwise,” he spun once more in his chair, “otherwise, my work would be like creating a great masterpiece, like a symphony that no one who appreciated good music ever heard, or like a painting no one ever saw. You understand?”

I nodded. What was the explanation, I thought, of this apparent madness?

Dr. Felix Von Alder sat motionless in his wheelchair for a moment before he leaned toward me to talk.

He had been a brilliant scientist in Germany, working for Adolf Hitler on the control of human behavior. The experiments in the ‘30s and ‘40s had only involved animals and had been very crude, using chemical and surgical methods to alter and control the brain.

“I had some success,” Von Alder said proudly, “even then. Der Fuhrer decorated me repeatedly.

I was ready to move on to humans. Then it was too late — the war ended. There was an Allied raid on Berlin where I was working—” he paused in his story and slipped off his white smock. I saw that his arms, with his white gloves on the hands, were artificial. He moved his shoulders, and both arms fell to the floor. “I lost both arms in the raid.”

Soon after that, he continued, the war ended. When the Russians came to Berlin, they searched for him because they knew of his experiments. When they found him, they’d taken him to the U.S.S.R. In the confusion of the times, the Germans had thought he was dead. There was no record of the continuing existence of Dr. Felix Von Alder.

In Moscow, he continued his work, but he’d had more sophisticated electrical processes at his disposal. The Russians had constructed artificial arms and hands for him, and he’d been a brilliant success.

“But the Russians,” he added, “never stopped being suspicious of me.” He paused again and moved his hips against the seat of the wheelchair. Both legs, which I now saw were artificial, fell to the floor.

“They cut off my legs so I could never escape. They knew I was their enemy. I have always believed in die superiority of the German people. All my work had been to help die German state rule the world — and now that I’ve perfected my techniques, my dream will come true.

“But to return to the Russians — they had been investigating the history of the Third Reich and they’d discovered my deep, personal devotion to Hitler. But that didn’t stop them from wanting to use my scientific knowledge. They believed I was close to a breakthrough in my experiments. So they kept me in isolation; I had nothing but my work.”

Von Alder sat in his armchair in front of me, an armless and legless torso. I could see that he was savoring my revulsion and shock as I stared at him. He gave a high, bitter laugh and, using the muscles in his back, sent the wheelchair zig-zagging across the room and back to me again, proving he was far from helpless even now.

Stationary once more, he went on with his story. In Russia, he had finally perfected a theory to successfully control humans, for by that time, two new developments had been introduced in the world — computers and miniature transistors.

“As soon as I discovered these two elements,” Von Alder told me, “I knew I had what I needed. The computer, after all, was simply a mechanical brain that could be programmed to do whatever I wanted it to do — a brain outside a body. I knew that if I placed a tiny transistor inside a human brain, I could feed orders from die computer into the transistor. My subject would be under my absolute control.”

But he still had a problem: he hadn’t known how to place a transistor, even a mirco-dot transistor, inside the human brain. He continued experimenting, never revealing his theory to the Russians.

Then, Chinese scientists began visiting Moscow to exchange information. Von Alder decided to switch sides. The Chinese seemed to know nothing of his political past and he would be assured of better treatment. He made friends with a Chinese physicist and through him got smuggled out of Russia. It had been easy. Von Alders artificial arms and legs had been removed and he had been fitted into the bottom of a crate of scientific instruments being flown to Peking.

“Once in China,” Von Alder went on, “I found the solution. It was amazingly simple. Can you guess?”

Before I could say anything, he answered himself: “Acupuncture.”

He raced on breathlessly with his story. Using the ancient Chinese medical art of acupuncture, he could bury a micro-dot transistor in the human brain. The transistor was fed from a computer and Von Alders control of the human being was complete.

As he had done in Russia, Von Alder kept his discovery secret. When the right opportunity came, he planted a micro-dot transistor in the brain of a drunken official of the Communist party, a high-ranking member of the government. Then he activated the transistor with a previously programmed computer, and the Chinese helped Von Alder escape to Switzerland.

“Unfortunately,” Von Alder sighed mockingly, “the poor Chinese was killed while flying back to his homeland.”

As soon as he reached Switzerland, Von Alder had contacted his wife. Unknown to him, she had given birth to their daughters soon after the Russians had taken Von Alder away. Ursula continued to keep her husband’s identity a secret because of his association with Hitler, but she had supplied him funds to open a health spa. His family did not know of his current experiments and his daughters never suspected that “Dr. Bosch” was their father.

The spa flourished, attracting an international clientele of the wealthy and powerful. Von Alder spent years building his assassination squad, implanting the micro-dot transistor in the brains of carefully selected patients at the clinic. When the doctor was ready, he simply activated his human robots through the computer.

I’d been silent during his long narrative, partially because Von Alder was talking nonstop and partially because his story was too incredible to comment on. He was clearly mad, but he proved very quickly that he was not stupid.

As if reading my mind, he snapped, “You don’t believe me. You think you’ve been listening to the wild ramblings of a crazy old man.”

He wheeled over to the huge computer, saying, “Listen to this, Mr. Carter. Listen carefully.” He signalled to Suzanne Henley, who pressed a button. Suddenly, the voice of the President of the United States filled the room. He was discussing the upswing of trade with Russia and China. As his voice continued, Von Alder’s wild cackle almost drowned it out.

“Not only do the transistors transmit my orders,” Von Alder said, “but they also act as receivers. I can hear conversations taking place all over the world. You are now hearing your president speak through a transistor planted in die brain of one of your State Department’s highest officials. They are at a Cabinet meeting.”

Von Alder signalled to Suzanne, and she pushed a series of buttons. Conversations from Russia, China, England flooded the room, one after another.

Now I knew how Von Alder followed all my actions, beating me to every destination. He must have had transmitters in the brains of Agent Z1 and Verblen, and perhaps others at AXE.

“Nobody can stop me,” Von Alder boasted. “I arranged those assassination-suicides so there would be no questions left when I came in with the big kill. When I threaten now, they’ll believe me. And do exactly as I wish.”

His eyes glittering, the doctor rolled his wheelchair close until our faces were only inches apart. “Now we shall discuss your future, Mr. Carter. While you were unconscious, I placed a transistor in your brain. In a moment my assistant,” he nodded toward Suzanne, “will activate it. From then on, you will be totally and completely in my power, obeying the programmed tape that I have placed in the computer.”

Von Alder sat for a moment, staring into my face. He obviously relished my helplessness. I realized only too well his power, and I felt the sweat break out on my body.

Von Alder turned away from me and nodded to the girl. I braced myself as I watched her hand reach for a button on the computer. She touched the button. A set of lights flashed and more buzzing came from the machine. I waited tensely, not knowing what to expect. Would I black out? Would I lose all memory of the past? What would happen? Soon the lights stopped flashing.

“The Nick Carter transistor has been activated, Dr. Von Alder,” the girl said in a cool voice. “Function is perfect.”

I sat stiffly in the chair. I had felt nothing — my brain was still operating as clearly as before. I didn’t know what had happened, but obviously I was not under Von Alder’s control. I tried to make a rigid mask of my face so that he wouldn’t detect anything.

Von Alder apparently thought the operation had succeeded. He scarcely gave me a second glance as he wheeled excitedly about the room, talking to himself. “I have succeeded! Again as always!”

He made a motion toward Suzanne and said, almost contemptuously, “Release him, please.”

The girl quickly came to my bed and began to loosen the straps that held me. I kept my face averted in case she might see something there to warn her, but she barely glanced at me. When I was finally free, she moved back to the computer. I didn’t know how to act then, so I simply sat where I was while Von Alder continued to breeze back and forth, rambling on about his plans.

Suddenly, in the midst of his diatribe, he stopped talking and came rushing at me in the wheelchair, the nerves in his face twitching un-controllably.

At almost the same moment, Suzanne screamed to me, “Look out, Nick! He knows you’re not controlled. He knows! He saw your eyes!”

Her warning came just in time. I leaped from where I was sitting as Von Alder’s wheelchair came bearing down upon me. I saw then, too late, that there were two muzzles thrust out under the armrests of the wheelchair. One muzzle was spewing a sheet of searing flame, while a jet of blinding gas was emitted from the other. If I had not jumped when I did, I would have been burned to a crisp cinder. Even so, part of my left shoulder and arm were badly burned, and I was half-blinded as I dodged to one side.

Von Alder, in a frenzy, swung the wheelchair around and came at me again, both muzzles spitting out the lethal flame and hissing gas. I ran, twisting and turning across die room, as he propelled the wheelchair at me. I was burned again across the back before I could elude him, for, this time, he had been traveling too fast. I was near exhaustion, but before he could swing the wheelchair around again, I lunged after him.

As he was spinning die chair around, I sprang for his back and hooked an arm around his neck. The wheelchair was still racing forward, carrying me with it. With my free hand, I dug my fingers deep into Von Alder’s neck until I reached the nerve I was seeking. I applied pressure and temporarily paralyzed him. Now he couldn’t move, even a muscle to try to slow his vehicle. Using all my weight, I swung the speeding wheelchair around and aimed it straight at the wall of glass.

The wheelchair raced full speed toward its target. I hung on, watching the wall come closer and closer until, when the wheelchair crashed through the glass, I dropped to the floor. The chair, with Von Alder’s body in it, shattered through the glass and tumbled end-over-end into the valley below.

Suzanne Henley rushed over to me and helped me to my feet. I looked at her. “You saved me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered, clinging to me. “I’ll explain it later.”

The two of us stood wordlessly at the edge of the room, looking down into the deep chasm below. There, hundreds of feet below, lay Von Alder’s body on the glacier ice with the smashed wheelchair next to it. From the height, the body looked like a tiny broken doll whose arms and legs had been torn off. Suzanne shuddered, and I pulled her away from the window.

“The computer,” she said, suddenly remembering. “I have to shut it down.”

She hurried across the room and pushed the buttons. The rows of lights went out, and the buzzing slowed to a low hum. With a final shudder, the machine stopped altogether and stood silent.

Suzanne looked at me. “It’s all right now,” she said. “The computer’s deactivated. None of die transistors will work, and all of Dr. Von Alder’s victims will resume their normal identities. In time the micro-dot transistors — including the one in your brain — will simply dissolve.” I nodded. It was over.