Butcher of Belgrade

One

A soft rain was falling on Washington. Thick fog hung over the city like a gray overcoat When I looked from the window of my hotel room, I could see just about as far as I could throw the Pentagon. Just for the hell of it, I tried to make out the shape of the Soviet Embassy down the street. I wondered if any of the boys there were busy thinking up projects that I’d be assigned to abort.

The telephone rang and I moved to it quickly. I was waiting for a message from David Hawk, the man who called the signals for AXE, the cloak and dagger agency that employed me. The work was risky, and sometimes the hours were terrible, but I got to meet a lot of interesting people.

The voice that came over the line belonged to one of Hawk’s assistants. “The Old Man is in a meeting and he sends word that he’ll be tied up for quite a while. He says for you to take the night off and check in with him tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” I told the voice and hung up with a scowl. When David Hawk got tied up in long meetings, it usually meant something had gone wrong for our side.

Impatience gnawed at me as I stripped off my hardware — the Luger in the shoulder holster, the stiletto up my sleeve, the small gas bomb I often wore taped to the inside of my thigh — and stepped into the shower. Sometimes my business was just like the military: hurry up and wait. For two days now I’d been in Washington awaiting orders, and Hawk still hadn’t told me what was up. When it came to inscrutability, many Orientals could have taken lessons from the lean-faced old pro who commanded AXe’s operations.

Hawk had summoned me to the capital from New Delhi, where I’d just completed an assignment. The summons had been tagged Priority Two, which signified that urgent business was at hand. Only Priority One instructions could bring an agent winging homeward any faster, and Priority One was reserved for the kind of messages dispatched when the President was on the hot line and the Secretary of State was chewing his fingernails down to the knuckles.

Since my arrival, however, I’d been able to talk to Hawk only once, and that conversation had been brief. He’d told me only that he had an assignment coming up that was right down my alley.

Right down my alley. That probably meant it could get me killed.

I wound a towel around my waist and listened to the news as I shaved. Now much was happening in the world that hadn’t happened before, and most of that wasn’t too good. Along with the dismal weather, it was enough to send a dedicated drinker back to the bar for another double bourbon. But it was not a night that couldn’t be brightened up considerably if a man knew the right girl. And I knew one.

Her name was Ellen. She worked for one of those high-priced legal beagles who specialize in arguing cases before the Supreme Court. I didn’t know how good an attorney he was, but if his briefs were one-half as dazzling as his secretary, he probably never lost a case.

I hadn’t seen Ellen in almost a year, but since she knew the line of business I was in, I didn’t have to offer any long-winded explanation when I called her. She said she’d cancel her other plans for the evening. I drove across town to her apartment in the car AXE had furnished for me. The fog was so thick I had to move at a snail’s pace.

Ellen was wearing a clinging, low-cut black dress. She took my raincoat, then threw her arms around my neck, pressing her full breasts against me, and gave me a kiss that would have melted the eyebrows on a statue.

“You don’t waste any time,” I told her.

“With you, there’s never any time to waste. You’re here today, gone tomorrow.” She smiled up at me. “I take it you’re still working for that nasty old man, Hawk?”

“That’s right, but tonight I’m all yours.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds very interesting, Mr. Carter.”

We decided against going out. The weather was too lousy, and besides, the truth was that neither of us wanted to get too far away from the bedroom. After Ellen broiled us steaks as thick as the Sunday New York Times, we sat around and drank wine and talked about what had happened to us during the year since we’d seen each other. She brought me up to date on her activities, and I told her where I’d been, if not all of the things I’d done.

Then I put my glass down and moved closer to her on the long sofa. With a slow smile, she drained the rest of her wine and then leaned over, the black gown falling away from her white breasts, and placed her glass alongside mine.

“At last, Nick,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d never get around to it.”

I laughed softly and let my fingers glide down into her gown and over the softness of her breast. Her nipple was hard and taut against my palm. I kissed her and felt her darting tongue, and then she turned and fell back into my lap.

Lingering on her mouth, I explored it until she was responding hotly. By the time the kiss was over, she was breathless, her breasts pumping up and down.

“Nick, it’s been much too long.”

It had indeed, I thought.

Rising, I pulled her to her feet, reached around and unfastened the dress in back. I slipped the straps slowly off her shoulders, then bared the full breasts. I kissed her again and her hands moved on my back.

“The bedroom where it used to be?” I asked.

She nodded, seeking my mouth again, and I picked her up and carried her through the door to the bed.

“All right?” I asked, standing over her as I peeled off my coat.

“All right, Nick.”

I finished undressing and hung the Luger on the back of a chair. Ellen was watching me, her eyes dark and smoldering.

“I wish you hadn’t worn that thing,” she said. “It reminds me of what you do for a living.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“I know. But it’s so dangerous. Come here, Nick. Hurry up. I want you now.”

As I crossed to her, she was wriggling out of the dress and the black panties, which were all she wore underneath it. While I caressed her inner thigh, I placed a row of kisses across her breasts. She writhed as though my touch had set her afire.

Then I was entering her and she was surging underneath me, timing her movements to mine. We climaxed together.

She was all that I had remembered, and more.

Our bodies were still joined when I heard the telephone on the bedside table ring. Ellen made a face, then wormed out from under me and picked up the receiver. She listened to the voice on the line, then thrust the receiver at me. “It’s that man.”

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” said David Hawk.

“You came damn close,” I told him. “How did you know where I was?”

“An educated guess, I suppose you’d call it I know I told you to take the night off, Nick, but things have finally started to pop. I’d like for you to get over to the shop right now.”

I slammed down the receiver, got out of bed, and put my clothes back on. “Any messages for that nasty old man?” I asked Ellen as I made my way to the door.

“Yes,” she said with a faint smile. “Tell him I think his timing is terrific.”

The rain had let up by the time I reached the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services Building, on Dupont Circle. This was the shop, as Hawk called it, the cover for AXe’s center of operations.

Only the lights in Hawk’s offices were burning as I hurried along the silent corridor. A pair of men sat in the outer office. One of them jerked his thumb toward the other door, and I went in and found Hawk at his desk. He looked as though he’d been missing too much sleep.

“Well, Nick, how was the night off?” he asked in a dry voice.

“It was great while it lasted.” I sat down without being asked.

“I’ve been running from one damned meeting to another trying to get the details worked out on this assignment of yours.” Hawk’s contempt for red tape showed in his expression. “Now something has happened that lends it special urgency. I’m briefing you tonight because I want you on a plane to Paris in the morning.”

“What do I do when I get there?”

Hawk opened a drawer and took out a manila folder. From the folder he extracted some photographs. He slid the pictures across the desk. “Look at these. That unimpressive little gadget you see there is an extremely valuable piece of equipment.”

I examined the three photographs carefully. “It’s an electronic device, obviously. But what else is it?”

“As you know, we have a very complex satellite monitoring system. It’s much better than anything the Russians or the Chinese have been able to perfect. A great part of the success of our system is the gadget shown in those pictures. It has the capacity to zero in on a tiny moving target from a great distance, and to pick up the smallest sounds emitted by that target.”

“I can see why it’s valuable.”

Hawk tore the wrapping off a black cigar. “It allows us to monitor everything the Soviets are receiving on their spy satellites, and to record it all for decoding later. As far as satellite intelligence is concerned, it’s the most coveted item in the world.”

“And it’s no larger than a man’s fist.”

Hawk nodded and sank his teeth into the cigar. “Which means it’s easy to steal and easy to conceal.”

I could almost guess the rest. “Someone on the other side got hold of one of the devices?”

“We let the British have a few of them. One was stolen in London.”

“The Russians?” I asked.

“No,” Hawk said. “But they’d sure as hell like to have it. So would the Chinese. Now, let me ask you a question, Nick. How much do you know about an organization called Topcon?”

When I heard the name, I leaned forward. My reaction must have revealed my quickening interest because Hawk permitted himself a thin and somewhat weary smile.

“Topcon,” I repeated. “I know that it exists. Like you, I hear the gossip of the spying trade.”

“It’s a privately owned and operated intelligence operation. An efficient one. It seemed to spring out of nowhere not long ago, but it immediately became a factor in the espionage war between East and West. Topcon steals secrets and sells them to the highest bidder. Up to now, it’s been mostly our secrets that were stolen and mostly the Reds who bought them.”

Hawk really was tired. He placed his unlighted cigar in an ashtray and knuckled his eyes. “Topcon is a shadowy organization, Nick, apparently tightly-knit and carefully policed. It may be the best private spying outfit set up since Gehlen formed his in Germany after the war. And we can’t identify the person who heads it. That sort of information has eluded us.”

“I know. I could make a couple of stops in almost any large city in Europe and come out with the addresses of the local Soviet and British intelligence chiefs, but Topcon is a different matter entirely. I couldn’t give you the name of anyone who works for them.”

“And I suppose you’ve been wondering when AXE would challenge this outfit and try to find out who runs it.”

I grinned. “I’d like the job, if that’s what you mean.”

“Nick, Topcon has the precious little gadget shown in those photographs. They’ve put it up for auction.”

Hawk opened the folder again and took out a newspaper clipping which he passed to me. “Before I go on, I want you to read this news item.”

I frowned as I quickly scanned the clipping, which was from an Italian language newspaper. The story was very brief. It reported the stabbing death of a traveler named Carlo Spinetti. The murder had been committed on a railroad platform in Trieste. Police were looking for two men who perpetrated the crime while stealing Carlo Spinetti’s suitcase.

“What’s the connection between this and the rest of what you’ve told me?” I asked Hawk.

“The killers weren’t interested in the contents of their victim’s suitcase. They wanted a travel sticker that was on the bag. A sticker that concealed a microdot with valuable intelligence on it.” Hawk took the clipping back, shaking his head. “Carlo Spinetti wasn’t even aware he was carrying it.”

“Without his knowledge, he was being used to transport stolen data?”

“That’s right. And Topcon was responsible. They’re using the railroad to smuggle information, to carry stolen secrets out of the free world and behind the Iron Curtain. They use the Orient Express run from Paris to Sofia, by way of Milan, Trieste, and Belgrade. We’ve been watching the airways closely, so they developed another pipeline.”

I was fitting the various bits of information together. “And you think the electronic device Topcon stole is going to be carried along that pipeline.”

“Most of what I’ve told you comes to us from a Bulgarian defector named Jan Skopje. He’s informed us that Topcon has the gadget and plans to take it to Sofia aboard the Orient Express. One of Russia’s people, a top KGB man, is scheduled to meet a Topcon agent aboard the train to make a deal before they arrive in Sofia. You, Nick, are to meet Skopje in Paris, pick up any other details you can, and intercept the merchandise before it changes hands.”

I took another look at the photographs of the device. “Okay.”

“I brought you to Washington with the intention of assigning you to locate the monitor. At that time, I didn’t know who had it. Then the Skopje business started breaking, so I had to delay a decision.”

“I understand. And now time is breathing down our necks. I have to get to the device before the Russians do.”

“While you’re doing that, if you should just happen to blow the lid off Topcon, I wouldn’t be exactly unhappy.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.” I stood up. “Any further instructions?”

“You’re going up against the KGB and Topcon. And Lord knows who else might horn in hoping to get hold of that monitor. So watch your step, Nick. I’d hate to lose both the monitor and you.”

I promised that I’d try to save him that embarrassment.