Earthfire North

Nine

The drizzling rain was doing little to dispel the August heat as Nick and Roberta's plane touched down at National Airport in Washington late that evening. Perkins, one of Hawk's aides, was waiting for them outside customs. Carter had telephoned from the airport at Munich.

"You are expected, sir," Perkins said as he led them to the car. It was a code phrase meaning Hawk wanted to see Carter immediately.

"Get us over to my place first, Tom. Ms. Redgrave will be staying there."

"Yes, sir," the man said.

When they reached his building, Carter helped Roberta inside, and when she was settled in, he kissed her, promised he'd be back very soon, and went back to the car. He presumed she'd be calling the German embassy for instructions. He'd have Hawk straighten out that end of things.

As soon as Carter climbed in the car, Perkins headed away from the curb, a pinched look on his face.

"Trouble?" Carter asked.

"I think so, sir. They've been waiting for you. Mr. Hawk is very anxious."

"I see," Carter said. And a few minutes later they had made it across town to Dupont Circle where, as they turned the comer toward the entrance to the underground parking ramp, he could see that the entire fifth floor of the Amalgamated Press building was lit up. Something big was going on.

Perkins dropped him in the underground lot, and Carter signed in with the guard and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Hawk was waiting for him in the conference room along with Jerry Baumgarten, head of the Western European section of AXE, Bill Cairnes, technical division chief, and John Starkey, liaison with the President's office. The four of them looked grim.

"Are you all right?" Hawk asked, his voice gravelly. A half-chewed cigar lay in the ashtray in front of him.

"I'm fit, sir," Carter said, taking a seat across the table.

"We've had a chance to look at the photographs," Hawk said. "Now I want you to give us a complete update on everything you've gotten into."

Carter had expected this, and he was ready. Quickly he told them everything, beginning with the letter from Lydia Coatsworth, his run-ins up in Iceland, and then the chain of events in Argentina leading from Mendoza to Braga to Pepé, and finally back to Mendoza who identified the man with the monocle as Marc Ziegler.

"What about this Ziegler?" Baumgarten asked.

"He was an S.S. general. According to what I learned, he's now a power within the Odessa."

Baumgarten looked pale. "Are you positive about this, Nick?"

"Reasonably," Carter said, and he told them about the Israeli in Buenos Aires who had provided the ID.

"That's it then," Baumgarten said to Hawk.

"What's 'it', sir?" Carter asked.

Cairnes sat forward. "The photographs you sent up here. Carter, were most curious." The man was a brilliant scientist. "And disturbing."

"They're building a nuclear reactor in Iceland?" Carter said. "With Odessa help?"

"That, as well as a waste material reprocessing plant. Some of the equipment you photographed could be used for nothing else."

"Reprocessing…" Carter started to say, but then he realized exactly what Cairnes was driving at, and his blood went cold. "Reprocessing of spent uranium fuel into weapons-grade material."

Cairnes nodded. "Those bastard ex-Nazis are building nuclear weapons."

"But why Iceland?"

Hawk broke in. "We're guessing now, Nick, but we think it's because a country such as Iceland would have had no trouble obtaining the international licenses to build a nuclear plant with outside help."

"Argentina certainly would not be granted such a permit," Baumgarten said.

"Evidently the Odessa has worked its way into Icelandic politics sufficiently to form such a partnership," Hawk said. "I don't think they realize who they're dealing with, but evidently the partnership is there."

"If the Nazis get the bomb…" Carter said, letting it trail off.

"Exactly," Hawk said. "I want you up there immediately. We're going to have to put a stop to it. ID section has a background worked up for you, as well as for Redgrave."

Carter perked up. "I was about to tell you about her, sir."

"No need," Hawk said. "Schmidt phoned this afternoon from Bonn. He's had Miss Redgrave working on this for some months now. She's on loan to our agency for the duration… that is if you want to work with her."

Carter grinned. "That'll be fine, sir, just fine."

Carter sat in a chair across from the bed, a drink in his hand. Roberta had been sleeping fitfully, and now she lay on her back, one hand flung above her head.

She had not telephoned her embassy; in fact, in the several hours Carter had been gone, she had done nothing but sleep.

She looked very young, Carter thought, watching her sleep. Too young and innocent to be involved in this business. Yet the dossier they had received from Schmidt, along with her bags that had been delivered to AXE, indicated she was very good. A pro.

She moaned again and rolled over. Sodium pentothol dreams, he thought. They recurred sometimes for months afterward. He'd been there, been chased by insane monsters with no possibility of escape.

After a while he turned on the light and came back to the bed. Beads of sweat glistened all along her hairline. "Roberta," he whispered.

Her eyes suddenly popped open and she sat bolt upright. "Nick," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh. God… I dreamed you had left me!"

"I just got back. Your things are here already."

"My things?" she asked, confused.

"From Schmidt. He sent them over. You'll be working with me officially now. We're leaving for Iceland in a few hours."

She pulled away. "I don't know…"she said vaguely, letting it trail off.

"You don't have to," Carter said. He had a fair idea what she was thinking.

"I told Ziegler everything I knew." she cried. She tried to hide her face in her hands, but Carter pulled them away.

"You're a professional," he said. "You know the hazards. It was sodium pentothol. There was nothing you could have done about it."

"I talked! I told him everything — like some babbling schoolgirl!"

"You were drugged!" Carter said. He got up, went back into the living room, and poured himself another cognac and one for Roberta.

"I really thought I had him," she said. She took the drink from Carter and sipped at it. "I really thought I'd wrap the case up soon." Her face was pale, and the muscles in her jaws were tight.

"There's something here you're not telling me, Roberta," Carter said. She was holding something back. He could see it in her eyes, and the way she held herself when she talked about Ziegler.

She said nothing.

"Is there some kind of personal thing?" he asked. "Have you got a vendetta against Ziegler?"

"No," she snapped.

"You're lying."

"Don't press me on this, Nick," she said. She got out of the bed, pushed past him, and went into the living room where she poured herself a second drink.

"We can't work together if you won't tell me the truth," Carter said. This was beginning to feel sour. If he were smart, he told himself, he'd have her pulled off the case and he'd do it alone.

"I just need a little time, Nick. But Ziegler has got to be stopped He and men like him ruined my country, and very nearly the entire world. It can't be allowed to happen again."

He nodded. "All right," he said. "I'll give you the time, Roberta." He got up. "Get some more rest. I'm going to stretch out on the couch. We have to be out of here and to the airport by ten."

She nodded, and he went out to the living room. He turned off the light, tossed down the rest of his drink, and lay down on the couch.

For a long time he lay there, thinking about Roberta and about Ziegler and about going back to Iceland. Lydia had been murdered there. Of that there was no doubt now. If for nothing else, he told himself, he wanted to see this thing through to the end.

The bedroom door slowly opened, and Roberta came out. She was wearing nothing.

"Go back to bed," Carter said, half sitting up, but she came across to him and lay down beside him, her body cool and incredibly soft.

"Nick?" she sighed.

"Damn," Carter swore softly, but he didn't mean it. Soon he was undressed, and they were on the carpeted floor together, her long legs wrapped around his body, her lovely breasts crushed against his chest, and they were making love — slowly, tiredly, but with great comfort and pleasure.

They went into the bedroom together, where they finally got to sleep a couple of hours before dawn. When they woke, traffic was bustling in the street below, and it was already getting hot outside.

Carter got up and made coffee while Roberta showered and dressed. When she was ready he showered and dressed too. AXE had set him up with a new Luger, another stiletto in a chamois sheath, and a new gas bomb and pouch; in Germany, Schmidt had promised to see what he could do about finding Carter's original weapons. He packed these things in his suitcase so that he would have no trouble through Icelandic customs, and then he called a cab.

"Last night…" Roberta began on the way out to National Airport.

Carter smiled.

"It was lovely. I'm going to enjoy being your wife for this job… I'm going to enjoy it a lot."

Carter had to laugh, the good feeling lasting all the way out to the airport, the hour-long wait there, and then the five-hour flight to Reykjavik.

When they touched down, however, the mood was gone. Completely. This was enemy territory, and they had a job to do.

The weather, particularly after the hot and sunny Washington morning, was terrible. Low, sullen-looking clouds hovered over the city, and a very chill wind blew in from the ocean.

They checked in at the Saga and registered under the names Angus and Marta McDonald. He was a salesman from Vancouver. He and his wife were here on a combined business trip and vacation.

They asked for and got a room on the top floor with a view of the harbor — which took several Canadian twenties — and when the bellboy left and Carter threw back the drapes covering the large windows, the entire harbor lay spread before them.

After room service had brought up a bottle of cognac and some sandwiches, Carter locked and chained the door, then set up a pair of high-powered binoculars on a tripod in front of the window. He pulled a chair over, sat down, and focused the glasses on the harbor. The ships leaned up at him. He could read the names with ease.

"I'll take the first shift," he said, pouring himself a drink and opening his notebook.

Roberta pecked him on the cheek. "I'll be a good little wifey and go shopping."

"Be careful," Carter said, and she left.

He locked the door after her, then went back to the binoculars. In his notebook he began drawing a detailed map of the harbor, along with the names and relative positions of every ship. When one came in, he added it; when one left, he scratched it.

There was a lot of activity in the harbor, so it kept him busy for several hours until Roberta came back and he let her in.

"Anything yet?" she asked. She had brought some more food and drink with her.

"Nothing suspicious," Carter said.

She put her packages down on the bureau and came over to where he was seated. She looked through the binoculars.

"If anything at all comes in from Argentina, from Ziegler's warehouses, we'll see it here," Carter said.

She looked away from the glasses. "That could take time."

Carter shrugged.

She made him a sandwich and opened a bottle of beer for him around four, when she took over the watch. He lay down on the bed for a while, watching the single Icelandic television channel.

A freighter. The Delfin, came in at six. But after she was tied up, nothing happened. No crew came to unload her.

Roberta watched until eight, then Carter took up the post again. The hotel window faced west into the harbor, into the selling sun; in Iceland, in August, the sun remains at the horizon for a very long time. The slanting rays played havoc with his vision.

At about eleven Carter fell asleep in the chair. Roberta was asleep in the bed, the television a static blank, having gone off at ten.

At 12:45 Carter woke with a start. Quickly he scanned the harbor, then trained his glasses on The Delfin. Something was happening. He sat up straighter. Lights were on over the ship's hold, and a gigantic crane was swinging a load onto the dock, where a heavy truck was waiting to receive it.

"Roberta," Carter called.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes, then came over to the glasses. "What is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Take a look," he said, getting up.

She looked through the binoculars. "The Delfin," she said. "They're unloading something… Is it what I think it is?"

"Possibly," Carter said. He had pulled his weapons out of his specially designed radio-cassette player. He strapped them on now.

Roberta grabbed her bag, and together they hurried downstairs to the hotel parking lot, where they retrieved the car they'd rented and headed immediately toward the dock where The Delfin was tied.

"If they're unloading reactor parts, they'll be taking them out to the construction site."

"Maybe they haven't started yet," Roberta said. "Maybe they're just stockpiling the equipment until they're ready."

Carter shook his head. "Hawk and I have already discussed that possibility. From what we can learn, discussions in the Althing about the nuclear alternative have stalled. The Odessa cannot take the chance it'll be defeated, not at this stage of the game, so it's my guess they've already started construction, When Iceland's geothermal energy does run out, they'll unveil the reactor. A fait accompli, and the Althing will have no choice but to accept it."

"A dangerous game."

"Exactly. It's why Ziegler and his people will stop at nothing to protect it."

The streets near the docks were dark and empty. Carter pulled up and parked in the shadows beside a warehouse.

"The Delfin is just around the comer, I think," Carter said. The other side was lit up. "I'm going to take a look. Give me fifteen minutes, then get the hell out of here."

She pulled a small Beretta automatic out of her purse, then nodded. "Careful."

Carter went the rest of the way on foot, and at the corner he looked out across the dock. The truck had been loaded. As he watched, the driver and another man climbed up into the cab, started the big diesel, and the truck lumbered forward.

Carter had to duck back out of the way as the truck passed, but then he raced back to the car where Roberta was behind the wheel.

He jumped in on the passenger side. "That's it," he shouted. "Don't lose him."

Roberta started the car and screeched away from their parking place, picking up the truck's headlights in the next block.