The Enemy Within

  When consciousness returned, said Agents Raht and Terb found themselves in the back of a deliv­ery van, make and license number not noted. The delivery van was en route somewhere.

  As Agent Raht could not talk due to jaw frac­tures, Agent Terb said to the young man who was riding in the back of the van, "Where are we going?"

  Said young man stated, "We are taking you for a ride, you (bleepards). So say your prayers." He enforced this advice with said Beretta with which he gesticulated.

  The van stopped. The roar of other traffic could be heard.

  A young man came back from the front of the van.

  The two young men picked up some large garbage bags. The bags were made of black plastic. They placed some concrete blocks in the bottom of said black plastic garbage bags. They then inserted Agents Raht and Terb into said black plastic gar­bage bags.

  The back doors of the van were heard to open. Traffic roars were louder. It is agreed by both Agents Raht and Terb that they were there­upon lifted over a rail and dropped.

  The fall distance was considerable.

  The water impact was excessive.

  Utilizing the thin-blade which is required by standard regulations to be carried in the sole of the right shoe, Agent Raht cut through the black plas­tic garbage bag and shortly surfaced. As there was no sign of Agent Terb, said Agent Raht dived again and located said black plastic garbage bag and cut it off Agent Terb.

  Upon surfacing, both agents agreed that the bridge they saw upstream in the darkness was the Queensborough Bridge and, being competent agents, had a knowledge of the local geography. The water in this area is noted for its riptides and no one has ever been known to swim in it.

  The East River at this point is divided by a long island known as Roosevelt Island. It once served as a prison without walls because nobody could swim through the riptides and make the seven-hundred-foot crossing to the mainland. It is a historic spot.

  The current had carried the said agents just past the southern tip. There is a geyser there which shoots 4,000 gallons of water per minute 400 feet into the air. It is a historic spot.

  The wind was carrying the geyser spray over said agents.

  A backwater was located and taken advantage of. The shore is covered with barnacles and debris and oil scum.

  There used to be two hospitals on Roosevelt Island, one for the chronically ill and the other for the aged. It is a historic spot.

  On the southern end of the island there is also the Silverwater Memorial Hospital.

  Agent Raht carried Agent Terb to said hospital and pleaded being both chronically ill and aged.

  They were taken in and given treatment and, as they had money in their shoes, are still there.

  We could not write sooner because the hands of both Agents Raht and Terb are ripped to pieces from fishhooks encountered in seeking to search subject's baggage.

  No platen as described was located.

  However, there is good news! We have found the interference requested.

  Before entering subject's room, adjacent rooms were accidentally entered. Immediately next door to the subject's suite there is a room about twenty by thirty feet. This room contains backdrops of the sea and jungle which can be interchanged. The floor of this room is made up of sand and patches of grass.

  Said room also contains palm trees which spread out, making alcoves.

  The purpose of said room is apparently to simulate the earliest conditions of coital contact by diplomats from jungle or sea countries. They do it lying on the sand or grass or under the palm fronds which make the alcoves.

  In the exact center of this room, in an appar­ent effort to simulate glaring sunlight, there is a mammoth carbon arc light. This light is fed by carbon bars.

  In this way the earliest sexual experiences of diplomats can be reduplicated.

  There is a similar rig in a whorehouse in Hong Kong, at 116 Lotus Street, third door from the right.

  So this is very good news that we can tell you. The above carbon arc is the interference.

  You did not give us any bugs to plant so we did not plant any bugs.

  A messenger from the New York office is pick­ing up this report in suitable guise.

  We await your further instructions. We will not be ambulant for another month. Always at your service."

  Their agent numbers followed.

  The report was really a kick in the jaw. They were just doing it to spite me. That was obvious!

  It was just a way to lie down on the job and take a vacation at Apparatus expense. It's happened before.

  It made me even more savage at Heller! Most decent, respectable people use Doberman pinschers or Alsatians as watchdogs. He was using high-yellows and a Tahitian whore.

  It just shows what can happen when you try to work with somebody who is an amateur in espionage. They go unorthodox! You can't keep up with them!

  In my mood, I could sympathize even harder with that con man Izzy. Once fate gets started on you, it never knows when to stop!

  What would be the next blow?

  Chapter 2

  Lightning is said never to strike twice in the same place. But there apparently is no law about it striking twice in the same time period.

  Around 4:00 A.M., I had finally managed to get to sleep in my lonely bed.

  I was brought up like a rocket by a savage pounding on my bedroom door.

  I unbarred and opened it.

  The new gatekeeper was standing there wild-eyed! He was pointing at the gate with a mad, jabbing finger. He stammers so I didn't wait. I raced across the yard, gripping a Mauser machine pistol, hoping there was somebody or something there I could vent my spleen on by shooting.

  No such luck. It was the taxi driver.

  "Sultan Bey! Come quick! There is a long-distance person-to-person phone call for you! At the Dregs Hotel!"

  It spun me. Groggy from just awakening, and shocked, I could not for the life of me imagine who could be calling me. A crazy idea that it might be Lombar Hisst from Voltar insisted on splitting through my head. But that, time and spacewise, was impossible. Maybe it was somebody invalidating my bill of sale on Utanc!

  He rushed me back to my room and I got some clothes on and shortly we were flying along the bumpy road to Afyon. It was just a little too early for camels and carts so we made good time.

  I spilled into the hotel. The night clerk pointed urgently at the phone in the lobby. I grabbed the phone. Post, Telephone and Telegraph in Turkey—PTT—is usu­ally not too bad. The local operator was in a spin.

  "Sultan Bey. I will try to get Istanbul back. They dis­connected!" I heard some muttering. Then somebody came on the line. My party? No. "Is this Sultan Bey in Afyon?"

  I said, "Yes, yes!"

  "This is the Istanbul overseas operator. Wait."

  I waited.

  Somebody else came on the line. "Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?"

  I said, "Yes, yes!"

  "This is the Rome overseas operator. Wait."

  I waited.

  Somebody else came on the line. A British accent. "Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?"

  I said, "Yes, yes!"

  "This is the London overseas operator. Wait."

  I waited.

  The sound of many coins gonging into a phone.

  "Hello, Sultan Bey?"

  By all the Gods in all the Heavens!

  It was HELLER!

  "Is this my old Academy friend?" he said in English.

  "Yes," I said, my mind racing as how to shut him off! All long-distance calls in the world are monitored by the National Security Agency of the United States! They go by satellite!

  "We'uns up in Ha'lum is having us a wedding. De date is 2 October r'aht aftuh sunset. We'uns will leave de po'ch light on."

  "My Gods," I said. How could I shut him off?

  "De pahty goin' be very fancy so don' bring dat ol' Miss Blueflash. She trash. You'uns bring dat Prince Cau­calsia foh shuah. We goin' empty he stomach."

&n
bsp; "Good Gods!" I said.

  "Now we is countin' on you coming 'cause we got to write de cap'n you'uns is doin' jus' fine. Now de address he be griddle..."

  "Good-bye!" I screamed. "Good-bye! I be there. Good-bye!"

  I hung up hysterically.

  The phone rang.

  "This is the New York overseas operator. Did you complete your call?"

  "My Gods, yes!" I screamed at her and hung up again.

  The (bleeped) fool! Calling in plaintext!

  "Somebody dead?" said the night clerk in Turkish. "You look awful. Want me to open up the bar?"

  I went outside and got in the taxi.

  "Somebody dead?" said the taxi driver.

  I didn't answer and we drove off. It was the last bit of the moon for the month. It would be totally dark on October second. He had worked that out. But breaking security...

  Such was my reaction that for the life of me at that moment, I could not remember the rest of the message.

  The taxi driver dumped me at the villa. I went inside.

  Then suddenly I realized I would have the message on my recorded strips. I went into the secret room.

  I backtracked the strips.

  There was Heller in a midtown New York restau­rant. A Howard Johnson's? He was looking out of a phone kiosk into the room, waiting. I could see by the reflection in the glass that he was black-haired and black-faced. He was wearing some kind of workman's white coveralls.

  I skipped ahead through his travails in placing the call.

  He ordered and ate three hamburgers.

  The phone rang. He went to the kiosk. He got through. He dropped a handful of money into the box.

  And there was the call all over again. My ejacula­tions were a bit loud and I had to turn the volume down.

  He was being awfully obscure. I played it through again. I didn't know any "Miss Blueflash." Then I worked it out. He meant not to flash the stunlight on landing. Well, of course. He'd be down on the field.

  The "porch light" meant he had a radio beacon. I hadn't known he had taken one.

  It was on the third play through that I caught "griddle." He was probably going to say "griddle cakes." And he had been about to give the Voltarian Fleet grid position for that exact spot on the planet. It would be a short series of numbers.

  But of course I knew where he was.

  It came to me with a big flash of comprehension why he had bought that roadhouse. It was a landing field for the tug, the Prince Caucalsia!

  Aha. "Empty he stomach"! Heller wanted his boxes!

  Oh, there was more to this than just a tug landing and a message to Captain Tars Roke. Heller was going to use that roadhouse for something else!

  I went over it again carefully. Now I noticed that when he had been cut off so abruptly by me, he had stood there and blinked. And then he had stood there thoughtfully after he hung up.

  I tried to work out how the call had been a Code break. I couldn't.

  But the cargo was the thing. Heller wanted that cargo. He was going too (bleeped) fast!

  Raht and Terb had callously gone on vacation. I had to think and think quickly.

  Then it came to me. The perfect plan!

  We would make the delivery. Heller would hand over the letter. I would detain departure long enough to exam­ine the letter in a cabin. Although the first letter was long since sent, I had a copy. If this new letter matched the first letter, I would have the platen because the positions would coincide. And then I could order the Antimancos to kill him.

  Wait. I must not let him get any advantage in case

  I missed on the letter. How could I tamper with the cargo? This was going to work out all right after all. I went to bed smiling. One way or another, Heller was going to be stopped!

  Chapter 3

  It was not until noon the next day that I got around. Before I retired I had sent a note to Faht Bey that the tug would be leaving on the second, which was two days hence, and I, of course, supposed that by the time I reached the hangar, the crews would be calmly sorting things out for the departure.

  Such was not the case!

  When I walked into the huge cavern, it looked more like things were being set up for a battle!

  Every technician at the base was lined up in the mid­dle of the hangar floor! And the four assassin pilots had their beltguns drawn and trained on them!

  The noonday sun was beating down through the opti­cal illusion, making a sort of spotlight on the assembly.

  The lead assassin pilot was standing there in his gar­ish and deadly dress with an angry face and a shaking gun!

  Faht Bey was running around flapping and per­spiring.

  I came in through the entrance from my office. I instantly drew my own blastick. You never go unarmed amongst such people in the most peaceful times and this looked like war!

  Faht Bey saw me. He screamed, "Officer Gris! By the sacred Devils! Order these assassin pilots to desist!"

  I hadn't said a word. But the lead assassin pilot shouted at me. "You have no authority over us!" And one of his copilots trained a gun on me!

  "Officer Gris!" wailed Faht Bey. "They claim they are going to shoot technicians one by one until they find the culprit!"

  The five Antimancos were off to the side. I fingered the star which hung around my neck. Maybe I could get them to charge the assassin pilots.

  I realized I might be in the line of fire. I said hastily, "What's this all about?" Better temporize.

  "Sabotage and attempted murder!" shouted the lead assassin pilot. I thought, a fine one he was to be talking about murder. That was his trade.

  He turned his slate-hard eyes on me. "Maybe you had a hand in this!"

  "You'd better tell me what 'this' is," I said, putting a bold face on it and hoping my voice didn't quaver.

  He pointed a red glove at the technicians. "One of those (bleepards) messed up our ships!" His face was as red as the explosion insignia on his collar. "They rigged it with cross wires! If we had pressed a gun trigger to do our duty, our own ship would have blown up! That's murder and willful destruction of Apparatus property!"

  I could see why he was mad. He wouldn't be able to do his duty and shoot down the tug. But I walked over to the technicians.

  "What do you know about this?" I said severely.

  They were chalk-faced. The repair chief said, "Noth­ing! Those two gunships are locked! We are never allowed aboard."

  I turned to the assassin pilot. "There, you see? They didn't do it."

  He stamped up close to me. "Then WHO did?" He grabbed my tunic front. "You? Yes. You'll be riding in that tug. You could be trying to save your own neck at government expense!"

  My blastick was accidentally against his stomach. He backed up. "Threatening me, are you?" He caught sight of the Antimancos standing in a group in front of the tug. "Maybe you ordered them to do it!"

  The Antimanco captain came forward. Bless Captain Stabb! "I haven't received any orders from Officer Gris."

  The assassin pilot turned on him. "You'd lie even if you did! You're the ones that will be riding in that tug if we have to shoot it down! And now you are going on a trip!"

  Captain Stabb said, "The ship is disabled for outer space. It can only travel on its auxiliaries within the solar system. It is bugged and you can find it. So what's the scream?"

  Bless him!

  "Then," said the assassin pilot, "I have no choice but to shoot technicians one by one until I get the an­swer. And if I finish with them and still no clue, I'll start on your crew!"

  Faht Bey screamed, "Officer Gris! They'll paralyze the base if they shoot all the technicians! You won't be able to move with that tug if they shoot your tug crew! Please, by the fervent Gods, THINK OF SOME­THING!"

  Well, I could see he had a point there.

  Captain Stabb said, "The only one that isn't here now that was here when the two cannon ships arrived was that Royal officer!"

  Inspiration came to me!

  I said to t
he assassin pilot, "Oh, this wasn't done just today? Have you inspected your guns since you arrived?"

  "No, why should I? My target is that tug. It hasn't moved!"

  "You only inspected your ships when you thought they might be called into action by the movement of the tug?" I said.

  "Yes!" the assassin pilot snapped at me.

  "Oh," I said. "That accounts for everything! Now, that Royal officer is really a Crown inspector so I didn't think anything of it. But I observed him enter and leave both of your cannon ships shortly after you came."

  "What?" screamed the assassin pilot. "And you didn't report it?"

  "Well, he's a Crown inspector. Has orders to shoot all of you. He was snooping into everything, all your pri­vate affairs. And I knew you'd inspect everything before you flew."

  "That Royal officer? The tall one with the blond hair?"

  "And blue eyes," I said. "The very one."

  I turned to the assembled hangar and base personnel. I said loudly, "I am very sorry that a crime of sabotage by that Royal officer put you all in danger of your lives. But you can relax. Obviously he did it. So that is all there is to it. You'd better remember to shoot him on sight if you see him again. He is a threat to your lives."

  "The Royal officer," they whispered.

  "That God (bleeped) Royal officer," said the assas­sin pilots.

  "You can always count on a blasted Royal officer to make trouble!" said Captain Stabb.

  Having established unanimous agreement that Hel­ler ought to be killed on sight, I smiled at them. "Now that we have decided upon our course of action if he ever shows up again at this base, shall we get back to work?"

  They drifted off.

  The cream of the jest was, I was right. I was quite certain it had been Heller. That his action might have included his saving my life as well did not enter into it.

  After that phone call, there was some chance he might show up here. Well, I'd taken care of that. What­ever else happened, he would never leave this planet alive. That was for sure!

  Those angry and vengeful faces were a balm to my suffering! Now somebody else besides me and Lombar were frothing at Heller!

  Chapter 4