The Weapon of Night (7 page)

“That was bad, J.D., very bad,” he hissed. “Why was I not informed of this before? You will have to go there at once and put a new plan into effect. And you had better make sure that it works. I will not take a lot of that sort at this stage — at any stage. And you had better arrange it so that you yourself will be free for your other duties. Pay what you must — but get it done and be sure that it’s done right!” His head swung in another direction. “You, B.P.” The sounds of the meeting droned on steadily, like a high waterfall drowning out the tinkling sounds of the river. “You. Is there no way that you can arrange to be away from there?”

B.P. shook his head. “It would look extremely strange, M.B.,” he murmured quietly. “My position compels my presence. Even supposing I were to have some sort of ill-timed accident it would perhaps be thought a little odd. But . . .” He scribbled a note and thrust it across at the man he had called M.B.

The chairman of the board read it with narrowed eyes. His thin eyebrows arched speculatively and his lips curved into something like a smile.

“But of course you must be there,” his thin voice tinkled.

“So true, what you say of accidents. And you, of all people — no, I cannot spare you. Very good, B.P. Very good, indeed. For that I think we might arrange a bonus. A special dividend.” He paused, and his cold gaze swung around the table. “Anything else?”

Silence. Heads shook. The take-up reel on the recorder was almost full. The man at the head of the table unlocked a sturdy leather portfolio and gave each man a thin sheet of paper.

Each read in silence, nodded and reached for matches or lighter.

The slips of paper flamed, then curled to blackened crisps among the cigarette butts in the ash trays.

There were only inches to go on the tape.

“Then the meeting is adjourned,” said the sibilant voice of the chairman.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lady In A Cage

“Ah, the great outdoors, how I love it, Nickska!” Valentina boomed. Her big hand gestured expressively at the wintry landscape of upper New York State. “I wish I had been in time to see your turning leaves, but even so, this is so very beautiful.” She turned toward him suddenly and her round face was solemn. “But you are not happy, Nicholas. You are much too silent.”

“Let us be thankful for small blessings, Madam Sichikova,” said the girl in the front seat. “Usually, it’s impossible to turn him off.”

“That’ll do, Miss Baron,” Nick said austerely. “One more crack from you and I’ll send you straight back to your cluttered desk at the O.C.I.” He sighed heavily. “Really, the quality of the help these days . . .”

Valentina chuckled, hugely enjoying the exchange. “You do not fool either of us, Nicholas. You could not have been more pleased when you heard that the delightful Julia was joining us. I, too, am pleased. But very pleased.” She leaned over and patted Julia on the shoulder, and the two of them exchanged the knowing smiles of sophisticated women.

The Cadillac skimmed smoothly over the road, heading west with the afternoon sun. The car was bullet-proof, crashproof, and almost bomb-proof, and its driver was AXEman Johnny Thunder. Nick was armed and so was Julia, his very favorite spy. Maybe Valentina was armed, too (she had been a little coy about that and he had not pressed the point). But they were surrounded with as much security as Valentina would permit. There was a plain dark car a little way ahead of them and a plain light car a little way behind, both of which carried AXEmen. And the plant itself was well policed by its own security guards.

Yet, Nick was uneasy. They had talked for one solid day — he and Hawk and Valentina — about the implications of the attempt on her life and the Chinese disappearances from Moscow. She had listened with great interest when they had told her about Hakim’s letter, but it had puzzled her.

“Of course! Of course! They must be the same men!” she had said excitedly. And then her brow had clouded. “But — I had begun to be so sure that the attempt to kill me could mean but one thing only: that there is something at West
Valley
that I must not be permitted to see. Because of course the Chinese scientists — and therefore their government and their intelligence people — know very well that I am here to see the plant. But it cannot be the plant itself that they want to keep me from. It cannot be a
thing.
It must be a
somebody.
But why should they be afraid of recognition if they have all changed themselves?” Her brow had clouded even more darkly. Then it must be a thing. But what thing?”

“I can’t imagine what sort of
thing
it could be that hasn’t been seen by hundreds of people already,” Hawk had said dryly. “But one thing is increasingly clear to me — you must postpone your visit to West Valley and make a secret trip some day.”

“Postpone! Some day!” Her enormous bulk had seemed to expand like an overinflated balloon. “I am here now, now I go.”

So now she was going. She had been adamant.

Which was why Nick was worried, because he too believed that there was something at West Valley that was dangerous to her.

Another thing that worried him was that he had not heard again from Hakim or D5. Hawk himself had heard nothing from D5 since Eiger had reported his arrival in Cairo.

“Enough,” said Valentina. “Enough now. You make this sweet day sour. I promise you I shall take the utmost care. Also, I am wearing my bullet-proof corsets. Does that make you feel better?” Her body shook as she chortled, and her hand came down on Nick’s knee in a bone-crushing grip.

“Oh, infinitely,” said Nick. “I always enjoy a broken leg.” Then he laughed. She was a target as eye-catching as a tank, but at least she was armored like one. He did feel better. “You might have told me that before,” he said. “Julia wears hers all the time.” He ignored Julia’s snort and jabbed a tanned finger to his left. “See those stacks?” he said. “Beyond the fields? That’s it. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Valentina looked. “Why, it’s like a little oil refinery!” she exclaimed. “Or something on a farm, like a group of grain elevators. Siloes, do you not call them? But all the land around it is farm country I This is not at all what I expected.”

“Well, I hope that’s the last of your surprises,” Carter said.

Their arrival at the plant passed off with a slickness that did credit both to AXE and West Valley’s own security force. The guards were courteous and alert. The occupants of the plain dark car and the plain light car flashed their ID cards and were permitted to station themselves at key points in the plant. Johnny Thunder hovered in the background, a concrete hunk of man.

Even the introductions were admirably neat and brief.

“Honored, Madam Sichikova,” said the president of the company. “My plant manager, James Weston; vice president, Barrett Pauling; chief of security, J. Baldwin Parry. I trust you will join me later in my office for refreshments. But in the meantime, shall we go?”

They went, first through the modern front offices and then into the throbbing heart of the plant. Within its depths there were no windows to the outer world but the pleasant glow of simulated daylight filled its every recess. It was streamlined, spotlessly clean and for the most part spacious; the passageways between the installations were wide and free of clutter and only the inevitable ladderways and catwalks were the usual space-saving size.

“We have tried to make working conditions as pleasant as possible,” said Weston, leading the way. Security Chief Parry walked with him, eyes alert, methodically checking the positions of his guards and the various personnel at their customary posts. Soft music played a background accompaniment to the low pulsating of the machinery. “The place was especially designed to avoid giving that boxed-in feeling that comes from working in enclosed quarters. You will notice the wide passageways leading off at various points. Each one goes directly to what we call a relaxation area — large, airy rooms with easy chairs and television sets and growing green plants and the like. The lower-level . . . ah . . . ladies’ rest-room facilities are also down here, through Passageway B. We have, as you know, a number of women on our staff, largely on the administrative side.”

“Good, good,” said Valentina, wallowing along behind him between Nick and the company president. “But none in overalls, I see.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Weston said regretfully. “The men would appreciate it, I know. But the women — nothing will induce them to get out of their short skirts and into overalls. I’m afraid Russia is well ahead of us in that respect.”

Valentina guffawed loudly. “I am not sure it is such an advance, my friend,” she said. “It may be heretical of me, but I still think women should be women. Tell me, what is the relationship between these two devices here? I am familiar with the one, but . . .”

Weston paused beside the installation and launched into a technical explanation. Security Chief Parry and the company president added punctuation points. Nick listened with only half an ear. Most of his attention was on the surrounding setup, and on the whole he was satisfied with the security arrangements. Vice President Pauling and Julia Baron stood beside him behind Valentina and the others, and he noticed that Pauling’s eyes, too, were sweeping the area between covert glances at Julia’s svelte figure. AXEman Thunder brought up the rear, but kept his eyes glued on Valentina’s bulk. Everything seemed in order.

“Shall we move on?” said Weston at last. Valentina nodded, still gazing at the miracle of machinery that had caught her attention, and the group straggled forward in a shifting pattern. The change was slight, inconsequential, but now Nick was half a pace behind and Pauling walked next to Valentina.

She beamed at him. “So you are vice president,” she said appraisingly. “You are a young man for so much responsibility. That is good. I like to see youth in the forefront.” Pauling cleared his throat. “Uh . . . ah —” he began. Valentina’s voice drowned out whatever he had planned to say.

“Now that is an interesting structure,” she bellowed, pointing ahead. “What is the purpose of it?”

A tall gantry reached from floor to ceiling, a height of some four stories, with its tower apparently embedded in the roof. Narrow platforms encircled it at various levels, and on each of them a man walked slowly, looking down. Within the frame of the gantry a cage moved up and down, like an elevator within an open shaft. The cage slowed as Nick watched and it came to a stop about fifteen feet from the floor on a level with one of the platforms.

“A security device,” he heard Pauling say. “More in Parry’s department than mine.”

The Security Chief turned to Valentina and nodded. “A multiple feature,” he explained, fingering his neat beard with pride. “Unique, I believe. A watchtower, alarm centre and fire station combined. Those are my men up there, of course. You’ll notice that from those platforms they have a view of the entire works. And not only that. The gantry itself extends through the ceiling to an additional thirty feet so that the duty guard — the cage operator — can observe every level of operations not only within this main building but in the grounds themselves. The cage is rising again now, as you see. The operator will make two more brief stops along his way and then emerge through the roof to scan the landscape. And then he will descend. The cage itself is equipped as a television control room with banks of monitors relaying camera information from every corner of the entire complex.”

“And not only that,” added the company president. “The tower guards also have control of highly specialized fire-fighting equipment, a sprinkler type of apparatus that covers every foot, every corner of this area. It can be activated from any one of the platforms as well as from the cage. Depending on the need of the moment, it can emit accurately directed chemical solutions, certain types of gases or simply water jets. And of course any part of the plant can be sealed off by remote or direct closing of a series of heavy steel doors, so that if there is any sort of minor fire or . . . urn . . . disturbance it can be instantly isolated and contained. Naturally, those are not our only safeguards. Merely additional precautions to the overall security. Our Mr. Parry designed all this himself. He’s been with us for many years, since the very inception of the plant.” He cast a warm glance at Chief Parry. “I must say he’s devised a most remarkable system, one that has never failed us. The tower virtually does away with the need for the more conventional safety and security devices, even for helicopter surveillances. But, as I say, we still use all such devices — we even have a pair of spotter birds stationed in the roof base, though we seldom use them. Because, of course, the tower overlooks the countryside for miles around, and in this relatively flat farm country there isn’t much that can’t be seen.”

Foolproof, thought Nick, gazing upward at the ascending cage. Unless, of course . . .

“So,” said Valentina. “Very interesting.” And her eyes, too, stared upward, fascinated, as the bottom of the cage disappeared from sight. “But what a view he must have from up there of this whole complex. And what a pity that I cannot squeeze myself into that little cage with him!”

Vice President Pauling gave a polite little chuckle. “There’s no need to,” he said. “We have an observation platform and we had planned to take you up there. If you will come this way . . . ?” The group milled forward.

Plant Manager James Weston took the lead. “The access stairs and cage are on the west wall,” he said. “But before we go up you might care to take a look at this little device we call the Handy Andy. Andy’s a computer, of course, but a very special kind . . .” His voice droned on.

Once again the group changed shape almost imperceptibly as it shuffled on its way. Nick drew up alongside Valentina and felt a light touch on his sleeve. Valentina’s whisper was very low, a slight breath in his ear.

“I have seen that one before,” she murmured.

Nick tensed. “Which one?”

“Those are the stairs,” said the company president, breaking his slow stride and peering worriedly at Valentina. “Rather high and steep, as you can see. But there is another cage, as Weston said. Ah, just take it easy around here, madam. I see it is a little slippery. Extremely careless of someone.” His hand went to Valentina’s arm to guide her.