The Scorpia Menace (7 page)

The room in which he now stood was more than forty feet long. The ancient stone walls from which it had been originally formed were now encased in intricately carved panelling. Curved windows of toughened glass gave the occupants views in three directions. The magnificent oak beams of the ceiling had been retained. The room was like the bow of a ship. Where Crang stood was the broader part leading to midships, while the walls gradually became sharper in angle, leading the eye to where the Baron's desk stood on a dais made of polished wood.

Steps led up to it. Beyond, a large, spiral staircase made of teak curved upwards into the dusk leading to Baron So- jin's personal quarters. Books in a dozen different languages glimmered in fitted bookcases around the room. On the dais, near the Baron's desk, were all the electronic and communications aids he used to help him run his vast criminal empire. Below the staircase, taking up more than ten feet of the room's length, was a massive illuminated map of the world, on which the Baron could see at a glance the extent and scope of Scorpia's rule.

He stood up as Crang approached the steps of the dais and indicated a leather chair to one side.

"Do sit down, my dear Colonel," he said in his distinctive voice. A slight Central European accent betrayed his origins.

"I trust that your news will not spoil my day."

"I hope so too, sir," said the Colonel, settling himself back in the armchair and reaching into his pocket.

"But I felt it my duty to come straight here to report."

"Quite right, Colonel," said Baron Sojin softly.

He was a man of more than normal height, thin but with broad shoulders and a deep chest that denoted a man in fine physical condition, an athlete almost. His forehead was high and broad and his chestnut colored hair was receding. The effect was minimized, however, by the use of a razor, which cropped it fashionably short. The Baron's eyes were a startling blue with long curling lashes. He looked to be about forty years of age, though it was difficult to tell.

He had an even, deeply-tanned skin stretched smoothly

over high cheekbones. His nose was strong and broad, his teeth white and clean. It was only his mouth that gave him away. Wide and slit-like, it revealed his ruthless, tempestuous nature. The lips were bloodless and bleached, and when he smiled, which was frequently, it was like a mirthless slot opening in his face. The Baron's origin was obscure.

Colonel Crang, studying him for the hundredth time, was not inclined to question it. It was not healthy. He had no experience of the Baron's temper himself, but he had heard from others. One of his predecessors in office, he understood, had disappeared. A year later, his remains had been found impaled on the branch of a tree in the jungle far below the castle. Men of the garrison whispered that the man had been pushed from the Baron's own quarters. The Colonel did not doubt that it might well be so. But the man was probably a fool. He himself hated inefficiency and he would not tolerate it in his subordinates.

Now he stirred on his chair and came up with the typed sheet giving Otto Koch's message.

"This is from Otto Koch in District No. 84, sir," he said crisply.

"There is, apparently, a young woman named Diana Palmer, who is something of a celebrity. She lives in Westchester and is an Olympic swimmer, scholar and explorer."

He paused, aware that the Baron was smiling.

"You interest me, Colonel," he said. "This girl is young and beautiful, yes?"

The Colonel coughed and shifted in his chair.

"So I understand, sir," he said.

The Baron sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

"Admirable," he said. "And this girl is likely to give us some trouble or we would not have a message about her? Correct?"

"Exactly so, sir," said the Colonel, blinking.

The Baron's intuitions were quite uncanny at times. He was a formidable opponent. The Colonel was glad that they were both working for the same side.

"The girl has, apparently, been studying seventeenth and eighteenth century history," he went on, aware that the Baron was listening intently to his every word.

"She specialized in pirate bands and other Brotherhoods of lawlessness. During her research she stumbled on some references to the Scorpia in ancient documents."

The Colonel blinked again at the Baron's reaction. His leather and steel chair creaked ominously as Sojin sat bolt upright and fixed his blue eyes on a point somewhere beyond the Colonel's right shoulder.

"Do go on, Crang," the Baron said softly.

"This is the point, sir," Crang continued. "This girl is a celebrity in America. Everything she does is news. Koch first picked up some items about her hobby in the local newspaper. Now the television people have got hold of it, and she's been speaking about Scorpia on her local station to a fairly wide audience. According to her, the Scorpia was not destroyed four hundred years ago as was believed. She hopes to prove that it survives to this day."

"As indeed it does, my dear Colonel," said the Baron in a deceptively mild voice.

The Colonel was astonished at the Baron's reaction. He had expected some violent outburst from this mercurial man. The Baron was ominously quiet, however, for such a powerful personality. He sat back in his chair again and smiled slowly at the Colonel.

"You are certain, Colonel, are you not, that the Palmer girl spoke on a local television station and not on a nationwide network?"

"Koch was quite specific on that point, Baron," said Crang stiffly. He prided himself on his exactitude, and even the Baron could not criticize him on that score.

"You do see the importance, Colonel?" the Baron continued.

He got up; his tall, thin figure looking even taller. He wore a red, silk robe over blue, uniform trousers and a white, silk shirt, and the robe emphasized his height. He went to look silently out of one of the curved windows at the magnificent vista of sea and jungle below him.

"This is a sight I never tire of, Crang," he said over his shoulder. "When the affairs of Scorpia are more than usually pressing, then I come to stand here, and the world and its problems fall into proper perspective."

Crang did not reply and after a moment the Baron said,

with a nervous jerk of his head, "Do come and look, Colonel."

It was an order, not a request and Crang crossed swiftly to his side. It was indeed a breath-taking sight and, though Crang had seen it many times, each time seemed more spectacular than before. Both men were silent for a long minute. Then the Baron turned away.

He put his hand on the Colonel's arm.

"This matter of the girl and the Scorpia."

He went to sit back at his desk.

"It is true we exist. And it is equally true that we do not wish the world to know this. But was Koch's information really worth a Red Alert? He is a good man and we value his talents, nevertheless. A commendation then, in your reply, and a gentle hint that the situation would more correctly have been indicated by an Amber."

Crang nodded. "Noted, sir," he said.

"Excellent, Colonel Crang," the Baron went on. "Our reactions must not be too violent in this instance. The situation could be dangerous. Instruct Koch to stop the girl—in as gentle a manner as possible."

"Very good, sir."

Crang inclined his head and clicked his heels. He paused, wondering whether the Baron had any further instructions.

Sojin smiled gently. Anyone but Crang would have shuddered, the expression seemed like a smile on a dead face.

"You may leave now, Colonel," he said.

He waited until the Colonel's echoing footsteps down the hall had died away. The door closed behind his subordinate, and the ruler of Scorpia crossed to his desk. He flipped on the switch of the closed circuit TV. Crang's impassive face stared back at him as he went down in the elevator.

Sojin flipped the switch off again and went back to study the magnificent view. For the first time in his life he felt lonely amid the splendors of Castle Toeplitz and his private kingdom of Scorpia.

The girl Diana Palmer sounded interesting. A woman of spirit evidently, as her accomplishments indicated. Yes, they would have to go gently at first. He smiled again. But interesting, very interesting.

7

ORDERS FROM TOEPLITZ

Cringle's scar twitched and pulled his eyelid more to the side than usual. He sat hunched over the morse key in the boarded loft room of the old house, his hard face twisted into a knot of concentration. From the earphones, clamped to his blond hair, came the rapid high-pitched tone of the signals coming over the thousands of miles that separated receiver and transmitter. He perspired slightly as his hand faltered on the signal pad, slurring the outline of the figures.

He rapidly broke into the transmission with a series of long notes and then signalled for a repetition of the group. Otto Koch sat on a hard, wooden chair in a corner of the attic and watched him benevolently. His fat, bland face looked more like an egg than ever. The acrid, blue smoke from his cigar rose slowly toward the ceiling and he seemed oblivious to the ash which dropped on his red tie.

It was impossible to tell from his expression what he was thinking as he listened to the staccato of the morse symbols which meant nothing to him. His pudgy hand seemed to caress the thick pile of decoding books on the bench at his side. His grey eyes were entirely without emotion as he gazed patiently upward, watching the ascent of his own smoke whorls.

The transmission finally came to an end. Cringle signalled an acknowledgment and then switched off the equipment. He gave a heavy sigh of relief and pulled the pad towards him. He started carefully recopying the letters into a more legible form for Koch to read.

"I've become a little rusty since my days in the Signal Corps, Otto," he said nervously.

Koch said nothing but continued to wait in the same patient manner until the scratching of his subordinate's pencil finally ceased. He took the sheets from Cringle's hand and gazed at the blond man pointedly. Cringle flushed, as his gaze went downward to the bench before him. He suddenly understood the other's meaning.

He tore off the top sheets of the signal pad and bundled them together with his first rough copy of the message. He set fire to the sheets with a lighter and ground the flaming mass to ashes on the floor. He made sure not a fragment of paper remained. Then he got a dustpan and brush and swept it up.

While he was doing this, Koch was busy with the message and the decoding books on the bench. He sat, oblivious of Cringle's movements, until halfway through when the latter heard him give a sudden click of annoyance with his tongue.

"Well, well, Cringle," Otto said, breaking his long silence. "So Center feels my signal should have been an Amber Alert. So be it. Perhaps it looks like that from Scorpia but it's slightly more dangerous at this end."

He turned the searchlight of his piercing, grey eyes on Cringle.

"Let us hope that the Baron has his priorities right."

His pudgy fingers beat a tattoo on the bench.

"Of course, he is not often wrong. But even so, the man on the spot is usually in a far better position to evaluate the situation."

Tiny spots of red stood out on his cheeks, and Cringle guessed that his chief had been slightly wounded by the tone of the message. But caution prompted him to remain silent. So he said nothing, and after a moment or two Otto went back to his decoding. Cringle resumed his place at the bench and lit a cigarette. Presently, Otto stirred and scanned the entire message again.

"More and more curious," he told the walls.

"Meaning what?" Cringle asked.

"Meaning, Cringle, that we're to soft-pedal the entire matter." Cringle screwed up his ugly face in surprise.

"What do you mean, soft-pedal?" he said aggressively. "This dame is liable to blow Scorpia clear into the open with her running-off at the mouth."

"Are you giving the orders here, or is the Baron?" said Otto softly.