The Weapon of Night (3 page)

“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:

Dear Nicholas,

A quick note before I go to the classroom and begin part seven of my course in the Seven Lively Arts. Details will follow at your request, but at this stage I do not wish to inflict upon you too much of what you may regard as trivia. Yet, I have encountered something which caused my crime-sniffing nose to twitch and my eyes to cross swords even more valiantly than usual, and I thought at once of you and your own talent for sniffing out the odd and apparently inexplicable.

Last night I attended a dreary off-campus party in honor of some even more dreary on-campus individual. I arrived late, deliberately, for I have no patience with those affairs, and when I got there the wine was flowing indiscriminately and tongues were flapping. To my great disgust I was buttonholed immediately by Doctor Wilhelm von Kluge of the College of Medicine, who proceeded at once to bore me with his miraculous exploits in the medical field. Then all at once he ceased to bore me. Soon he became almost as cross-eyed as I myself and the words spilled from his mouth. He is a surgeon, I must tell you, brought to Egypt by our estimable Nasser, and it was when he began talking of his recent carvings that I pricked up my ears and listened.

It seems that he is an expert in cosmetic surgery, a fact that he had not previously confided to me. It further seems that, over the course of the past few months, he has been doing a series of operations to alter the facial characteristics of a number of men who paid him vast sums of money for his skills. His greatest triumph, professionally speaking, was in the area around the eyes, and in the hormonal inducement of hair growth where hair was reluctant to appear before. In the course of his babblings it emerged that none of these men — some eight or nine in number, so far as I could gather — was disfigured in any way so that they actually required surgery. They merely wished to alter their appearance, and according to him he did so with unparalleled brilliance. I got the impression from him, though he did not say so directly, that they all knew each other and that the treatment of each was very similar. Some required more or less work on the nose; one or two demanded his greatest skill in the transformation of the cheekbones. But on the whole their requirements were the same.

I then asked him — as who would not? — exactly what they had looked like before. And then, my friend, he most regrettably clammed up, as you would say, and began talking very rapidly about something else. Nothing I could do or say would bring him back to discussion of his surgical brilliance. Yet, I thought I saw him glance around the room with a kind of nervousness, and, soon after that, he left.

I see that, as usual, my “quick note’ has become a chapter, and in it I have offered you nothing but intangibles. But I find they interest me strangely, and I shall pursue the matter. I see, too, that it approaches the hour for me to lecture to my budding crime-fighters, so I will leave you with this little puzzle.

The term will soon be over — Allah be praised for my criminologist’s holiday. You do not propose to vacation in Egypt this year? Alas, I thought not. But write me at your leisure and tell me what you think of von Kluge and his drunken ravings. In the meantime, my best greetings —

Forgive the interruption. A phone call from the Chief of Police. No class today; I am on call as a consultant.

Von Kluge was found dead in bed this morning. At first glance it looked like natural death. On investigation he was found to have been deliberately smothered.

I must go.

In haste,

Your friend, Hakim Sadek.

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.”