The Weapon of Night

CHAPTER TWO Valentina The Great

“No,” said Hawk. “And take your elbows off the toast, if you please, and pass it to me. My God, you’d think some genius in this overpriced snob trap would find some way to keep toast warm.”

Nick passed the toast. True, it was cold and soggy, but that was not the fault of the Hotel Pierre. Hawk had been on the telephone almost continually since breakfast had been brought to his suite and Nick had arrived to greet the head of AXE on his return from a top-level meeting in Europe.

“No?” said Nick. “You’ve hardly been listening to me. Why No?”

“Of course I’ve been listening to you,” said Hawk, spreading marmalade with careful lavishness. He was unaccountably irritable but he had not lost the frontiersman’s appetite that somehow left him looking lean and wiry and leather-tough. “Anyway, I know all about it. Blackouts here, pollution there. Lakes that turn bright red and water that flows stinking from the faucets. Oh, even in Europe I heard all about it. Humph. I see by this morning’s papers that flying saucers were seen over Montauk again last night. Extremely sinister, without a doubt.” He attacked his scrambled eggs and concentrated on them for a while. Then he said, “Don’t think I haven’t been concerned. Discussed this with the Chief on the four-way system Wednesday night. Central thinks it’s mass hysteria due to Vietnam war nerves, precipitated by perfectly normal incidents that just happen, coincidentally, with rather more than normal frequency. People exaggerating things, putting two and two together and coming up with with forty-five. The Bureau says —”

“It’s more than two and two,” said Nick. “Even more than forty-five.”

“Die Bureau says,” Hawk repeated, giving Nick a beady stare, “that it is quite impossible for enemy agents to have been at work. All incidents may be ascribed to human error, mechanical malfunctioning, self-delusion and imagination. However, they warn us that we must not entirely overlook the possibility that Russian saboteurs are lurking in our midst. Witness the red lake, for one thing.” Hawk smiled a little sourly. “That one really hit J. Egbert where he lives. But he will be Alert, he said, and Ever-Watchful.”

He took a mouthful of coffee and made a face. “Pretty bad, at a dollar a cup. Pfui. Well. McCracken took a middle course between two middle courses, which is walking a fine line indeed. He subscribes to the theory that all these episodes can be easily explained, though he himself cannot explain them. Power failures have been common enough for decades. We all know that smog and pollution came to us with the machine age. And we also know, he says, that there is a psychological factor involved — that things of this sort come in waves, like suicides and airplane crashes and so on. It will pass, he says. Due to our national state of nerves — again, I quote him — the American people are lumping a whole lot of unrelated incidents together and inducing in themselves a state of semipanic. But just in case — and here he goes along with J. Egbert — we must maintain an attitude of vigilance. The Chief agreed. So. All state and local police will make extra efforts to investigate all such phenomena. Federal marshals will be sent wherever necessary and the National Guard has already been alerted in order that they may act in extreme cases. The FBI, as promised, will be Alert and Ever-Watchful. But we of AXE have been ordered to keep our noses out of it. Out. And that, Carter, is that.”

“Is it?” Nick said thoughtfully. “Pity. But I have one small trump card up my sleeve —”

“Keep it there!” Hawk snapped. “Unless you have concrete evidence of foreign instigation and a pretty good idea of where and how to start investigating. Do you?”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t. Nothing but suspicion.”

“I have that myself,” said Hawk. “And that’s all I have.” He took a deep draught of cooling liquid from his coffee cup, and his leathery face twisted into a grimace as he pushed the cup away. “Filthy stuff,” he growled.

“Made from the world’s best coffee beans and the world’s worst water,” Nick observed. “New York’s very own. With a pollution content higher than it’s ever been. Nonpoisonous, they tell us, but revolting to the taste. I wonder why?”

“That’s enough, Carter,” Hawk said coldly. “Subject closed. Even if you were free to go off on a wild-goose chase I wouldn’t waste your time that way. And you’re not free.

Starting tomorrow morning, you will be on escort duty until further notice.”

“Escort duty?” Nick said incredulously. That meant doing snoop patrol with some V.I.P. from a Communist or “uncommitted’ nation, and he did not care for the idea. He had not earned his title of Killmaster by conducting guided tours.

Hawk favored him with a thin smile. “It may prove to be more interesting than you think. What do you know about the nuclear fuel plant in West Valley, New York?”

Nick cast his mind back to the appropriate memory file. “Owned and operated by Nuclear Fuel Services,” he said. “It’s the first — and so far, the only — commercial nuclear-fuel reprocessing plant on American soil. It produces pure plutonium of the type used to make nuclear bombs, but not for military purposes — only for powering peaceful nuclear reactors. West Valley’s about thirty-five miles south of Buffalo, which puts it close to Lake Erie and not too far from the Canadian border.” He wrinkled his brows and reached slowly for a cigarette. “Not too far, in fact,” he said thoughtfully, “from the source of the “sixty-five Northeastern blackout. Never thought of that before — Yes, that is interesting.”

Hawk sighed. “Forget it, Nick,” he said tiredly. “Forget about the blackout angle. The point about the plant is this: It’s open to the public, on a prearranged basis. And not just the American public. To members of the International Atomic Energy Agency, to qualified scientists from friendly countries and to various foreign brass hats who qualify for other reasons. The idea is to share our knowledge for peaceful purposes. Now, it happens that we owe a courtcsy — a very large favor, in fact — to a certain governmental department in the U.S.S.R.” He looked at Nick quizzically and the lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. “To Russian Intelligence, in fact. They have arranged, through the highest channels, to send a representative to inspect the West Valley plant.”

“Russian Intelligence,” Nick said flatly. “Now I’ve heard everything. And my job is to see that he doesn’t go poking where he isn’t supposed to poke. Oh, fascinating.”

“Yes, that’s the job,” Hawk admitted. “It’s a little unusual, of course, but for various reasons we couldn’t turn down their request. You won’t find it unpleasant, I’m sure. They’re ending Valentina Sichikova.”

Nick’s face brightened. “Valentina! Girl of my dreams, love of my life! You’re right — that does cast a slightly different light on things. But how come they picked her?”

Hawk leaned back and bit the tip of[one of his air-polluting cigars.

“Because you two know each other,” he said. “Because they wanted to send someone we can trust. I myself do not, as you know, trust anyone, but as long as they had to choose someone it might as well be her. I’ve engaged a suite of rooms for her on the twenty-third floor and a smaller one for you directly opposite. I don’t need to tell you that, trust her or not, she must be watched at all times. She’s a brilliant woman and there might just be more in this than meets the eye. So you will treat her royally and watch her like a — ah, hawk.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “You might care to read this letter from Smirnov, which reached me through State. He was the one who chose Sichikova for this visit. He took this opportunity to write us something in the nature of a fan letter for our part in that Moscow bugging affair. Very laudatory and fulsome. It might amuse you.”

Nick read it. Dmitri Borisovich Smirnov was indeed lavish in his praise for Hawk’s department. But seemed sincere, and he earnestly requested that the man he knew as Tom Slade should be Comrade Sichikova’s escort. As head of Russian Intelligence, he was only too aware that the Comrade’s visit might cause suspicion in some quarters, but he was sure that Hawk and “Slade’ would handle the situation with their usual delicacy… and so on and so on and so on, with lots of compliments and wishes for good health.

“Very nice,” Nick commented, handing it back. “A bit pretty for your tastes, I know, but I would say that friend Dmitri means it all.” He squinted thoughtfully at Hawk, thinking about something that had nothing at all to do with Valentina or her superior officer.

Hawk stared back at him. “Well?” he demanded. “What’s on your mind?”

Nick reached into his pocket and drew out a letter of his own.

“I get fan mail, too,” he said, almost idly. “You recall Hakin, of Egypt and Abimako?”

Hawk nodded. “I do,” he said crisply.” So?”

“This reached me through the drop,” said Nick. “I always thought Hakim was a born AXEman and I left him with the means of getting in touch with me. I’ve had a couple of newsy letters in the past year or two. And now this. Thought it might intrigue you.”

Hawk took the letter. He frowned as he read.

It said:

Hawk let the letter fall onto the table top and lit his cold cigar with great deliberation. He chewed it, puffed, leaned back and puffed again. At last, he spoke.

“You want me to assume that there is something more here than a criminal group at work in Egypt. Very well, I will dispense with a discussion of all such possibilities and make your assumption. And that is that this affair has international implications and might fall into the province of AXE. Am I right?”

Nick nodded. “It’s the nature —”

“Of the operations, of course,” Hawk cut in irritably. “Eyes, noses, cheekbones, hair. The eyes particularly, I’m sure you want me to notice. I have noticed. And the murder of the surgeon, presumably after he had finished his work. But immediately afterwards? Possibly not. No — after he was seen talking. Perhaps overheard. Oh, you’ve got me interested, no doubt about it. But we must know more — a great deal more — before I can take action.” He squinted thoughtfully and puffed again. “D5’s in Iraq,” he said finally. “He can make the hop to Cairo and do a little digging. That satisfy you?”

Nick smiled faintly. “You know it doesn’t. But it’s better than nothing. Only I don’t think he’s the one to make contact with Hakim. He’s not quite Hakim’s type.”

Hawk billowed smoke and squinted through it.

“And you are, I suppose? What do you want, Carter — to solve the blackout question, play host to Sichikova and fly to Egypt at the same time? I don’t recall that we’ve given you the title of Superman. You’re under orders. Mine. And you have been given your assignment.”

“Yes, sir,” said Nick, and scraped his chair away.

Hawk waved him back. “Sit down, Nick, sit down. Foul coffee always puts me in a foul mood. D5 can check, but there’s still something you can do. You trust this Hakim implicitly?”

“Unreservedly,” Nick said, straddling the chair.

“Then cable him. Use the regular public channels. Tell him that a good friend of yours will be in Cairo within the next day or two and will contact him to hear the latest news. Phrase it any way you like, but make it clear that you want all details that he is able to uncover and that your friend will pass them on to you. I’ll get the orders through to D5 myself and have him scramble Hakim’s report direct to me. How’s his doubletalk?

Hakim’s? He’s an expert.” Nick grinned, remembering. “So expert that sometimes I can barely make him out. But he catches on.”

“Fine. Then let him know, in your own best-guarded language, that we want him to find out — if remotely possible — when von Kluge finished his operations. The exact time and manner of his death. Who the men were or might have been. If eight or nine men have turned up missing recently in Cairo or vicinity. If von Kluge’s medical files are available for inspection. Who it was that might have seen or overheard him talking at that party. And so on. I leave it up to you to make clear to him exactly what we want to know. Now. Let’s get the Sichikova business out of the way.” Hawk pulled a slim file from his bulging briefcase. “Here is a list of the places she has asked to see in addition to the West Valley plant. Perhaps you can get one of your many female friends — AXE-approved, of course — to take her to Bergdorf’s and Macy’s and one or two other places that you might not care too much about. You’ll stay close at hand, naturally. Documents has a suggested itinerary for out-of-town sightseeing. You may use either your own car or one from the pool. Your expense account will be munificent, but I expect you to bring back some change. She will be arriving at Kennedy tomorrow morning at ten via Pan Am, and you will be there to meet her.”

“Pan Am? Not a special Russian flight?”

Hawk shook his head. “Nothing special. She’s traveling a roundabout route for her own pleasure and one of our men will be with her on the flight from London. None of her own. She’s an independent lady, it seems. And she’s traveling under her own name, without any attempt at disguise.”

“I should hope so,” said Nick. “I’d sooner try to disguise the Statue of Liberty than the incomparable Valentina. Who all knows about this trip of hers?”

The corners of Hawk’s mouth turned downward. “Too many people for my liking. Not the press, so far, and I intend to keep it that way. But the story’s gone the rounds of governmental and scientific circles, so it isn’t much of a secret. However. There’s nothing we can do about it. I can only urge you to exercise the utmost care. You’ll have two back-up cover men behind you all the way, Fass and Castellano, but you know as well as I do that their function is tail-spotting and not trouble-shooting. So you’ll be pretty much on your own. Your lady friend flatly refused all our standard security precautions. Still, we have no reason to anticipate trouble. She’s not well known outside of Russia — not on anybody’s wanted list so far as we can tell, and we have checked her thoroughly. So I’m fairly certain that you’ll have no difficulty.”

“Don’t see why I should,” Nick agreed. “I look forward to seeing her again. Now there is one dame I really love!”

“One?” said Hawk, and favored Nick with a smile that was almost fatherly. “One of at least a dozen that I know of. Now suppose you reach for that bottle of Courvoisier and pour us both a healthy tot. I know it’s a little early in the day, but I need something to take away the taste of breakfast. My God, look at the haze over this benighted city…”

Nick pulled the Peugeot into the airport parking lot and sniffed the clean, cool air. Valentina had chosen a lovely day for her arrival. No doubt she had ordered the elements to behave. The sky was blue and smog-free, as if doing its utmost to offer her a welcome.

His pass took him to the official greeting area on the border of the tarmac, and there he waited with one eye on his watch and the other roaming around to spot specks in the sky and cover-men behind him.

Like Hakim, he thought suddenly, whose eyes really did go in opposite directions and could drink in two totally different scenes at once.

He had sent off his cable to Hakim the Hideous, as Hakim liked to call himself, within an hour after leaving Hawk the day before. D5, by now, would be on his way to Egypt. And Valentina the fabulous would be landing in New York within the next ten minutes. Too bad Carter couldn’t be in two places at once. Still, Valentina was worth waiting for.

Nick’s eyes went on roving. A Constellation landed, then a 707. Two giant jets took off, screaming. Cover-man Fass was standing by near Immigration. Castellano was on the observation deck. Another jet took off. And then a speck grew larger in the sky until it became a streamlined metal giant, landing on the strip before him.

Valentina’s plane.

She still knew him as Tom Slade, the name he had had to use during that affair in Moscow. But even though she did not know his right name she knew a lot about him — that he was AXE’s highest-ranking operative, that he loved women, good food, strong drink; that he could use his mind as well as his fists and his killing weapons; that despite his rank of Killmaster there was warmth and love and laughter in him. And he, in his turn, knew that she had never in her life used a name other than her own; that she was one of the most devastating and spectactular and honest and wonderful women he was ever likely to meet; and that, in spite of her looks, she had a quick, sharp mind that had earned for her the position of Chief Assistant Commissar of Russian Intelligence, second only in rank to top Commissar Dmitri Borisovich Smirnov.

The stairs were in place; the great doors of the craft were open. The first of the new arrivals began to straggle off the plane. Then they came out in two steady streams — people laden with coats, cameras, handbaggage; people with smiles for the stewardesses and glad looks on their faces and people who gazed out uncertainly at an unfamiliar world and searched hopefully for welcomers.

So far, no sign of Valentina.

Nick walked toward the plane.

The two steady streams slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Still no Valentina.

He halted near the forward airstair and looked up. The first-class stewardess was still waiting at her post. So there was still someone to come.

Then the face of the pretty airline hostess broke into a smile, and her hand reached out to take the huge hand extended to her.

The magnificent Valentina stood in the doorway, making a brief little farewell speech of thanks. Nick gazed upward, feeling a rush of affection for this most wonderful of women.

Stood in the doorway? No, she commanded it — filled it, dwarfed it, shrank it down to the size of a hatchway in a model plane. Even the giant aircraft seemed to dwindle, so that it’s very vastness seemed to become a mere backdrop for this one woman alone.

When Valentina Sichikova finally began her slow, majestic descent, her eyes swept over the great airfield, taking it in with the casualness of someone glancing over a small suburban back yard.

Nick spread out his arms involuntarily, long before she reached him, and his smile of welcome almost split his face in two.

Her own face blazed with pleasure.

“Tomaska!” she bellowed, halting on the stair. “Greetings! No do not come up to meet me — I think these stairs will support me only, yes? Ho, ho, ho, ho!” Her body shook with massive merriment. “You know why I make Alexei wait and we come out last, my friend? Because I did not want to block the aisles. Ho, ho, ho!” She turned briefly and rumbled over her shoulder. “Alexei, do you have everything, my friend. No, you let me take that heavy bag, Aloysha…

Nick gazed upon her lovingly as she conducted a brisk discussion with Alec Greenberg of AXE’s London office. He was barely visible in the background, but he was there, a gnat guarding an elephant.

For Valentina was indeed one of Russia’s biggest women. She was immense: more than six feet tall and quite incredibly broad; wide, fearsome, bulging shoulders and breasts so huge and shapeless it was impossible to tell where her waistline might be or even if she had one. Her ensemble of sacklike blue serge suiting and boat-sized walking shoes suited her to a T — or rather to an O, which she most resembled in repose. But in action she was less like the placid O than a blimp in Russian dress, a tank with heart, a bulldozer with the warmth of a dozen human beings.

She continued her slow descent, and the sturdy stairway shook.

Agent A7 stood behind her, watching her majestic progress and sweeping the field with his keen gaze. Her baggage stood at the top of the stairway beside him. The cautious Alec, Nick noted, was deliberately keeping his hands free until Valentina had navigated her way to solid ground and her new escort.

Nick planted himself foursquare at the foot of the stairs and watched her coming toward him.

He heard the piercing bird whistle and the first whining zing of sound at the same time, and a split second later the sudden sharp clink of metal against metal.

With one bound he was up the stairway to the mid-point and shielding Valentina’s gargantuan bulk with his own tall muscular leanness — just in time to sec her rear back like a startled horse and clap a vast hand to her pudding of a neck.

Whip-crack sounds split through the air somewhere behind Nick as Valentina tottered toward him like a punctured barrage balloon.