Assault on England (11 page)

I got off the sofa and started to dress. Heather headed for the bedroom. "Brutus wants to see us immediately, if not sooner, at his office," she said over her shoulder.

We were ready in ten minutes and walked down the stairs from Heather's flat to the street. It was late afternoon and the early autumn sun was already setting. The sleek Porsche 911 was parked around the corner on a cobblestoned side street. Just as we reached the car, two men stepped out of a building entrance and confronted us. Each held a revolver in his right hand.

"Blimey!" Heather said softly.

"Hold it just there," the man closest to us said. He was a narrow-shouldered, thin-faced character whose pale blue eyes never left my face. His buddy was stockier with a soccer player's legs. "Search the girl," the thin man told him, then, to me, "Stand still."

He patted me down and he did a good job — he found Wilhelmina and Hugo.

"What's all this?" I asked, though I could make a good guess.

"Never mind," the soccer player said, shoving Heather's little purse with the Sterling in his pocket. He nodded toward the curb where a black Rolls-Royce was pulling up in front of the Porsche. "Just hop in."

We didn't seem to have much choice. Heather went first, the thin man moving up beside her. I followed with his pal.

"Where are you taking us?" Heather asked.

"You'll find out," the thin man said. We were at the curb now. "Get in."

"And no funny business," the man beside me added.

The driver of the Rolls made no move to get out of the car. I had my eye on the gun my man was holding on me, but I didn't know if Heather was tuned in to the possibility of moving against them. In the next second, I found out.

"Nick!" she shouted, and chopped sidewise at the thin man's gun hand. His revolver clattered to the sidewalk as Heather hit him again, this time in the face.

In the meantime, I'd kicked out at the soccer player's knee and connected with a loud crack. He yelled and doubled over, grabbing the leg. While he was distracted, I grabbed for his gun.

Heather now had a good hold on the thin man. She let his own momentum carry him off-balance then, using her body as a lever, threw him violently across the hood of the Rolls. He landed on his back.

Heather moved after the gun he'd dropped but had trouble locating it. I was still trying to wrestle the gun away from the soccer player who was putting up quite a fight.

I heard Heather shout, "Got it!" as she finally came up with the thin man's gun… too late.

"Drop it or I'll blow a bleeding hole through you." The driver of the Rolls had joined the act with a big ugly revolver he was holding aimed at Heather's back.

Heather groaned, glanced over at me and saw that I was in no position to help and dropped the gun.

"Now," the driver said, swinging his gun toward me, "you stay right there. You come here, birdie."

Heather moved to him. He slapped her hard and almost knocked her down. 'Turn and put your arms behind you," he said.

He nodded to the thin man who'd limped over to retrieve the gun Heather had dropped. He came over, took a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and slipped them around Heather's slender wrists. She gasped as he pressed them closed, far too tight. I cursed him under my breath.

The driver came over to me now. He was a heavy man with a slightly flabby face. He gave me a very nasty look and swung his revolver against my head. I grunted and went down, bleeding from a cut forehead. Then he and the soccer player jerked my hands behind me and locked a pair of cuffs on my wrists. They hauled me to my feet and shoved me into the Rolls. The thin man pushed Heather in beside me.

We drove for over an hour, the lights of London gradually fading behind us. It was black night when we turned into the drive of a country estate and the Rolls stopped at the main door of a large stone house. The three thugs got out of the car.

"All right, you two. Out" The thin man was giving the orders again.

They dragged us out of the back seat. "Inside," the thin man said, indicating the house.

The place was very elegant, with the look and feel of Old England. We stepped into a high-ceilinged reception hall. Lights were on but nobody met us.

"He said to take them to the tower," the driver reminded the others.

They marched us along a corridor to a narrow circular stairwell. It had a dank, musty smell. We climbed slowly up worn stone steps by the light of dim bulbs set at sparse intervals. At the top, the thin man stuck an iron key into the rusty lock of a heavy oak door and pushed the door open. We entered a circular stone room with a single barred window.

"Well, this is it Rest well." The thin man grinned.

There was no furniture in the room.

"How about taking the cuffs off the girl?" I asked.

The thin man turned back to me. "Cuffs off the bird, you say?"

"That's right," I said. "Look how red her wrists are, you're cutting the circulation off."

"Ah! Circulation, is it?" he said. "Is that what's worrying you?"

He hauled off and slugged me. I dropped to one knee and he lacked me in the side. I grunted and fell over.

"There you are, Yank!" he said. "That should improve your ruddy circulation!" He laughed and so did the soccer player. The driver just looked bored.

They left the room. We heard the key turn in the lock and then their footsteps, growing fainter and fainter, as they went back down the stairs.

"I'm sorry, love. I just can't manage it."

"It's all right," I said. Heather moved away from me and slumped to the floor, her back against the wall. She was very pale and looked completely exhausted.

"We've been in this bloody place for hours and hours now," she said angrily. She had just been attempting, for the sixth time, to unfasten the difficult clasp on the buckle of my belt but her hands were too swollen, she just could not manipulate them well enough, and we needed that belt and the buckle.

"I'm sorry, baby," I said.

"Do you think anyone will ever come?" she asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe Jupiter intends to let us die up here but somehow I doubt it. I think he wants to find out how much we know first."

It was daylight; a warm sun filtered through the high barred window in the wall, but the heavy oak door remained shut.

I looked down again at the belt and buckle that Special Effects and Editing had supplied me with. It contained plastic explosives and a tiny disassembled blowgun, but if I couldn't get it off, it was of no use.

"I'm thirsty," Heather said.

I opened my mouth to reply when I heard something on the stairs. It grew louder. Someone was coming up. "Listen," I said, "we have visitors."

A moment later, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Elmo Jupiter stood in the doorway, tall and imposing. The driver of the Rolls-Royce stood behind him with a gun.

"Well!" Jupiter said brightly. "We meet again. And so soon."

Heather's eyes darkened. "You bloody bastard!"

Jupiter clucked his tongue. "Such language for a lady." He moved into the room. "I hope you've found the accommodations comfortable."

"If you ever had any feeling for Heather," I said grimly, "you'll bring her some water. And loosen those damned cuffs."

He regarded me coldly. "How delighted I am that you accepted my invitation too," he said smoothly. "You who have made such a determined effort to wreck my plan."

"I didn't succeed," I told him "Your money should be in Switzerland by now. Haven't they told you?"

"They've told me," he said. "I gave your people further instructions, but they haven't acted on them." He pushed his big hand through his dark blond hair. The scar stood out vividly on his neck. "Could it be that SOE is playing cat and mouse with me — Mr. Carter?"

So he knew my true identity. Jupiter's underground intelligence network was certainly top-notch. I could see that he was waiting for my reaction, so I ignored it completely. "Nobody's playing games, Jupiter. But SOE may doubt your motives since we've disappeared. What do you hope to accomplish? Are you doing this for the money, or do you just enjoy killing?"

He laughed at that 'They taught me how to kill and I refined the practice to an art." Suddenly the smile was gone and a different mood struck him. "Yes, I enjoy killing when it removes the leeches from my flesh. I tried to play their game but they held all the high cards you see. Now they must play by
my
rules. And they must pay, Mr. Carter, in more ways than one. Does that answer your question?"

"Explicitly," I said. "Just one more question: how did Fergus know you were the assassin?"

Jupiter looked at me dumbly. "Fergus? Who's Fergus?"

"Augie Fergus. He was in your commando unit."

Jupiter's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, yes. Fergus. I remember him now. Good night fighter." Then he snapped his fingers in recall. "The hospital. Of course. He was wounded in the same action I was. Occupied the bed next to mine. Most of the time we had nothing to do but talk about where we'd go after the war. I remember now. That was when the germ of my plan was born. We were discussing all sorts of ways a man could make a million pounds, and I said how easy it would be to extort the money from the government. Just kill a few cabinet ministers, then demand… oh, I don't remember the figure… for the safety of the rest. You say Fergus knew John Elmore is the assassin? He must have remembered the conversation, then put two and two together. But that doesn't matter now, does it, Mr. Carter?"

"You've got the money," I said. "Let us go and show the government your good faith."

Jupiter started to smile again, but suddenly his face switched and a reflection of pain showed in his cold eyes. He raised his hand to the side of his head.

"The plate," he said harshly. "It causes pain at times. And they are responsible for it, those men who sit in the government. What were they doing during the war, Mr. Carter? While I was having the top of my skull blown off, what were they doing?"

His eyes grew wilder as he continued. "I'll tell you what they were doing. They were sitting in the safety of London. And those same men — how did they repay me for my services? By taxing my business to the limit. Everything I own, all the money I made, went into that business. And now it is on the verge of bankruptcy. It is their fault," he was raging now, "all their fault. But they will pay," he chuckled madly. "They will pay dearly. And the two of you will pay dearly for the difficulties you have caused me. That is why I had you brought here rather than killed immediately. You gave me a very large headache when you barged into my plant with your ridiculous story. The tour was free then, Mr. Carter, but you will pay for it now. You and this lovely creature." He looked hungrily at Heather. "I have plans for you, my dear." He bent down and ran a hand along her thigh; she tried to move away from him.

Anger had been building inside me and when Jupiter touched Heather, it exploded. I came off the floor awkwardly and threw myself at him, knocking him backwards. "Leave her alone, you bastard!" I yelled.

Jupiter's face hardened and madness glinted behind the eyes. The man on the landing moved closer with the gun.

"No!" Jupiter told him.

He closed the distance between us. He was as tall as I and looked as hard as nails. Suddenly he jabbed his fist into my stomach, just under the heart. I grunted in pain as the breath was knocked out of me. I fell back against the wall, Jupiter moving in after me.

I kicked out at his groin but he side-stepped and I caught his thigh instead. He delivered a hard chop over my right ear. I slumped to one knee but managed to stagger back to my feet. Jupiter came at me again. This time the edge of his hand struck me on the neck, the paralyzing blow knocking me to the floor.

"Don't!" I heard Heather scream.

The kick got me in the side. I let out a yell, my whole body aflame with pain. My hands struggled automatically against the handcuffs holding them. I wished as much as I had ever wished for anything that they were free and locked around Jupiter's throat.

He stood over me, breathing heavily. "I'll have more time for you later," he growled.

"This — sort of thing isn't going to — get you your fourteen million pounds," I gasped.

"How kind of you to worry about me, old fellow," Jupiter said acidly. "But I'll get the money and my satisfaction. I've already warned them about further delay. Now I'm going to show them how determined I am. There is going to be a fourth assassination, ahead of schedule."

Heather and I stared at him. His eyes shone brightly and his cheeks were flushed in an ugly way. Elmo Jupiter looked like what he was: a madman.

"It will be a really big fish this time," he said, smiling again. "And there will be others caught in the same net. Well, I've warned them."

"Don't do it," I said. "Let us contact our superiors and we'll set things straight about the money. I'm sure it's only a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding, yes," he said. "Of Elmo Jupiter. When I promise to kill, Mr. Carter, I kill. I never make empty threats." He paused to offer that psychotic grin. "Perhaps it will give you something to think about, Mr. Carter, to know that I propose to kill you. Very slowly."

I shrugged with an elaborate unconcern I did not feel. "If that's the way you want it. But why not ease off on Heather in the meantime? Look at her hands."

Jupiter's sparkling eyes turned from me to Heather. He nodded to the man with the gun.

Heather's cuffs came off. She rubbed her wrists to get the circulation going.

"Now put the cuffs on her only not so tightly," Jupiter said. He wasn't taking any chances. "Are Mr. Carter's cuffs tight?" he asked. The flunky checked them and nodded. "Good," Jupiter said. "Leave them that way."