The Vulcan Disaster

The miserable sonofabitch. There’d been maybe the half of a ghost of an outside chance that somebody might have arrived in time to help Will and Tatiana. That, however, had been before Basil Morse had rearranged the priorities for the sake of internal protocol. Can’t disturb the proper order of things. Can’t inconvenience the Chief of Operations. Can’t...

Will. Tatiana.

Fred. Christ, Fred. It hadn’t even been his affair. He’d just smelled a fish, given the little I’d told him, and he’d done some checking. I’d brought up Tatiana. She’d been seen with Meyer. He’d checked and found out Meyer hadn’t come back to town, although he’d been expected. He’d looked up his office address and broken in, same as I had earlier...

I sat down. And I took out Wilhelmina and jacked a round into her chamber. My hands were steady as I looked down at j them.

I’d taken a hell of a licking here in the Far East this trip — first in Saigon, now in Hong Kong.

I was tired of that.

I wanted some answers, and I wasn’t going to get them by continuing to play this stupid game I’d wound up in. I had to get back to the capital, and find out what the hell had happened to David Hawk, and talk to a bunch of people who could help me put the pieces of this confusing jigsaw puzzle I back together. And when I did...

When I did, I was going to break up a few ball games. I was going to put all of these bloodthirsty bastards out of business. I promised myself that. I didn’t know how, but I did know what I was going to do. I felt achey, and decrepit, and sweaty, and thoroughly miserable. But now that I’d made up my mind about everything I felt a little better.

In the meantime I had one more thing to do before I’d be able to leave town with a clear conscience.

I looked down at my watch. Twelve o’clock. Will had said to call him at noon.

I dialed that number he’d given me, with the Hong Kong Island prefix.

Somebody answered after three rings. “Yes?”

“This is Nick Carter.” I let the name sit there in the air.

“Carter?” said the voice. “Yes, I think I know about you. What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?” The voice had a familiar ring, somehow.

“Nothing. Where are my friends?”

“You know already where your friends are.”

“Yeah. I guess I do.” My throat was tight again. “On the other hand, you didn’t get the shipment, did you?”

“Shipment?”

“The arms shipment. Let’s not play games. It’s out to sea by now, isn’t it?”

“Ah... perhaps. Perhaps not. Your... ah... friends were kind enough to tell us...”

“He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even think by the time you came in that door. And she didn’t know. You’re as much in the dark as I am and you won’t admit it.” I took a deep breath. “All I want to know is if they died quickly.”

“Quickly? Why, yes, I suppose. I...”

“Good.” There was a lump in my throat I chose to ignore. “That means when I get to you I’ll kill you quickly. Humanely. You’ll hardly know it. And I’ll get to you, sooner or later. You can count on that.”

“You do not know who I am.”

“Yes I do. I just don’t know who you work for, or what your name is, or what your game is. And I won’t be ready to kill you until I have all the information needed to sink your ship and bust up your whole operation. But then, old buddy, look out.”

“I am listening. I am waiting.”

“Yeah? Well, don’t stand on one leg. I’m in no hurry. But I’m going to put you out of business. Just you watch.”

“Mr. Carter, you...”

“See you later,” I said.

I hung up after a moment. And then I looked at the wall for a few minutes, counting up all the debts I’d have to pay for this little trip. And then I looked down at Fred and I got to feeling sick and mad again. And I promptly cured the sick part by looking down at Basil Morse. I stayed mad.

I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Basil, you sonofabitch,” I said. “I’m going to put a crimp in that old school tie of yours. I’m going to set you up. I’m going to fix things so that you have occasion to remember this day and wonder just what it was that happened to you, and what you could have done to deserve it.”

I bent down over his outstretched body. And I picked up one of his hands and swung it over, limp and lifeless, and dipped it in Fred’s blood, palm down. And then I smeared it, all red and sticky, all over the side of his head. What was left I smeared into the rug in front of Basil’s peaceful face. And then I stood up.

They wouldn’t suspect him... really. Not after a good solid British-type investigation had been made. Nobody who knew how closely knit American and British undercover operations are would imagine that an American agent would rub out a British one. Particularly not at the level on which both of them operated. And there’d be other questions. Motive. The missing murder weapon. The open rear window. The mysterious fourth party (me). No, they’d clear him, all right.