The Weapon of Night (16 page)

They had no more than half an hour left to let their bodies do the talking; and their bodies talked with eloquence.

The silent speech began with gentle touches, little explorations that made flesh tingle and the muscles tense expectantly. Julia’s fingers traced the contours of his lithely muscled body, remembering where they had been before and what their touch could do; and his hands, in turn caressed her swelling breasts and thighs until her body taunted deliciously, demandingly. She trembled slightly as he sought out the secret places — no secret, any more, to him, but still with their own mystery — and little arrows of passion darted through her carrying separate little shafts of warmth that gradually merged until they engulfed her in a mellow glow. Nick sighed voluptuously and stroked the glow into a building flame.

Her legs entwined his and they rolled together. Lips met and burned; thighs undulated.

The pleasant singing of their senses blended into the quiet droning of the powerful engines, and the slight pulsation of the plane was lost in the more urgent pulsation of their bodies.

He marveled at her as he made love with all his heart and all his subtlety, glorying in the feel of her firm flesh against his and the provocative movements that soon would galvanize his body. She was always the same, yet never the same; that was the contradiction of her. Sophisticated Julia, with the teasing, expert touch . . . . Catlike Julia, languorous, wanting to be stroked . . . Tigerish Julia, hot with desire, falling on him and attacking like a wild thing . . . then languorous again, lying back provocatively, waiting for him to do things to her that only he could do to bring her to the highest peak of passion.

They came together as if that was all the two of them had ever wanted, let the stimulating movement build until it seemed that it could build no more, then parted, gasping, to savor the ecstasy and postpone the inevitable end until the last possible second.

“Julia baby, Julia baby,” Nick whispered, his face buried in her hair and all the pain forgotten. “Sweet baby . . .

“Mine,” she whispered back. “Love me, love me, love me!”

She accepted him again and he plunged deep into warmth and softness. She melted gently, slowly, and then burst into a new flame that rippled through her body and jerked her sinuous limbs into an erotic, thrilling rhythm. A little moan escaped her lips and her arms tightened about him in a clasp that was fierceness and tenderness together, as if she held the whole world in her arms and would be altogether lost if she let go.

He could feel the yearning in her, not just the animal urge, but the honest depth of feeling and the need to be a part of someone else who knew her world. For, in a way, they were both outcasts from the normal scheme of things, and they both knew it. And so, two people who lived for the moment and could only hope that there would be other moments made the kind of love that they both needed.

Her fingers tightened on his back and her supple, sinuous body writhed urgently.

Now she was all woman — not cat, not tiger — Woman. Earthy woman, damp hair curling about her ears, mouth crushing his, breasts peaked and thrusting, thighs clasping hungrily, body ripe and ready.

He rolled her over, still entwined with him, in a fluid, twisting motion that brought a sharp little cry of added pleasure from her, and drew her so close, so very close, that she could feel everything he had to give. She cried out again, almost piteously, and her muscles tightened against the hard thrust of him so that he could not have let go even if he had wanted to.

And, of course, he did not want to.

The weight of her on top of him, light and lithe as she was, tipped the delicate balance between control and absolute delirium, and with a surge of the purest happiness he gave in to the final urge.

They thrust together, rocked, thrust, dissolved into one person in a state of ultimate ecstasy. Wild exhilaration swept through them like a rushing storm wind and carried them along in their intimacy for long moments of exquisite passion . . . and gradually the storm wind sighed down into a gentle breeze. They drifted on it, lazily and lovingly, until it glided to a stop.

Their words were soft and broken and the fluttering kisses were small gifts of thanks.

The sound of the great engines, outside of their tiny world, altered subtly. The plane banked slowly.

“You lied to me,” Julia murmured, eyes half-closed and heart still beating with excitement. “It’s not San Juan, but New York after all.”

“Oh, I am a treacherous fellow.” Nick smiled down at her and Hilled her once more on the Hps. “But I have my miserable living to earn. And the big birdman awaits.”

He dressed quickly, watching Julia admiringly from the corner of his eye as she slipped into her own clothes. For a woman she was the quickest dresser he had ever seen in action.

“But what the hell!” he said suddenly. “Why should I be dragged back to New York? What’s the action there?”

“None, so far as I know.” Julia stared at him speculatively. “It’s just that Papa Hawk wants to see you and —”

Nick slammed his fist suddenly into his open palm. “Goddamn! He sent the Geiger-counter men up to Montreal, did he?”

“Sure he did,” said Julia. “Pappy always follows your advice. There’s a new radioman on duty there by this time, too, with a new transmitter — just in case.”

The plane was circling now, maintaining a steady holding pattern.

“But Canada!” said Nick. “I’m a blind fool. Just because they had their meeting place up there doesn’t mean that’s where they keep the stuff stolen from the plant. Why not in the States, where they could get at it so much easier? My God, it’s the U.S. we should be searching!”

“Well, we are,” Julia said reasonably. “I’ll bet you there isn’t a Geiger counter in the States that isn’t being used right now to track down little boxes —”

“Little boxes!” Nick snorted. “What about the source of supply? Unless, God help us, it’s all been scattered by now. Say — what about the AXE “copter?”

“AXE ‘copter?” Julia raised her eyebrows at him. “Didn’t know AXE had one. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Plenty,” said Nick shortly. “It’s equipped with the same sort of devices scientists use to measure radioactive fallout after nuclear explosions and a whole lab full of detection gadgets.”

“Well, that’s just dandy,” Julia said, “but it would take weeks to scour the whole country looking for a cache that may not even exist any more.”

“Why the whole country?” asked Nick. “It must be in a place that has some meaning; it must be in some sort of focal point.”

“Sure. Montreal,” said Julia.

“No, I don’t think so any more. Handy enough for meetings, but what about between meetings? Not practical. Damn this plane! Why doesn’t it land?”

It was still maintaining the steady holding pattern. Nick glanced automatically at his watch. “Wait here,” he said abruptly. “Got to use the pilot’s radio to get through to Hawk.”

He was talking to Hawk moments later in the AXE code that sounded like English and was English but made no sense except to those who knew the key.

“You got ten minutes at least,” the pilot had assured him, and Nick used only a couple of them. Hawk had news for him.

“Good and bad. Four down so far; prospect caught in Norfolk. Concussed, unfortunately, but will recover. Also, all other personnel at West Valley have been completely cleared. Both Hughes and Parry had vacations some three-four months ago, and that is no doubt when the substitutions were made. Clever planners, these bastards. Both fellows indisputably of Chinese origin. Bad news: radiation sickness being felt in several parts of the U.S., containers not yet discovered. We are searching. Part of Pennsylvania an New Jersey are in a state of blackout at this moment. Evidence of pollution in a Wyoming dam. No further leads. Nothing yet from Little Rock. And you? I thought your head had been blown off. Report.”

Nick reported briefly and then made his request.

There was silence for a moment. “Very well,” said Hawk, at last. “I’ll have it there. But you’ll have to go alone”

Hundreds, thousands, millions of radios and telegraphic devices were operating throughout the United States at that moment.

One of them was very different from all but its nine brothers, special units designed to communicate only with the others.

Which was why the AXEman stationed in the shattered hotel boardroom received no incoming messages.

“M.B. to H.M. M.B. to H.M. M.B. to H.M. Come in, H.M Come in, H.M.
Come in, H.M.!”

Judas waited. Tried again. Still no reply. The parchment-like skin of his domed forehead wrinkled.

“M.B. to L.M. M.B. to L.M. M.B. to L.M. Come in, L.M. come in L.M . . . .”

No reply.

The skull-face beneath the thatch of transplanted human hair twisted hideously.

“M.B. to T.S. M.B. to T.S. Come in, T.S. Come in, T.S.”

“T.S. Little Rock, to M.B. Come in, M.B. Awaiting instructions. Why no answer, H.M., Montreal? Over.”

“Would like to know myself,” Judas tapped out savagely. “Leave present headquarters at once, using all possible care. Abandon equipment in concealed place, if possible. Will concentrate now on final phase. Go immediately to railroad station men’s room and await me there. Will meet you soonest. Over.”

The unease in Little Rock was almost palpable.

The tall, good-looking man with the oddly darting walk could feel it as he walked down Orval Street. It seemed to him that people were watching him as he passed the seedy shops and paused in front of doorways; it also seemed to him that there were an inordinate number of rundown hotels and boarding houses on this city-back-yard street.

It was a cool evening but Hakim Sadek was sweating beneath his flesh-toned plastic face mask. He had used all his charm and all his carefully faked papers to make his inquiries, but he had drawn a dozen blanks. No one had recognized the faces in the pictures he had shown them. Now, he could see that the residential section stretched only a couple of blocks more before deteriorating into an area of gas stations and used-car lots.

He stopped outside a bar, lit a cigarette, and thought longingly of cold Egyptian beer. The voices from the bar were loud and truculent, and he could hear the note of hysteria in them as an argument raged.

“You listen ta me! It’s the Commies right here in our own country, and don’t you believe nothin’ else. We shoulda fried the whole stinkin’ lot o’ them, all them party members an’ the whole lot —

“Yer crazy! They came from outside, boy! They got us infiltrated. You know how? Trawlers, that’s how. And sub-marines. And some of them refugees from Cuba, you betcha life. Scum, the lot o’ them. Gonna take us over, that’s what. Russians and their buddies.”

“It’s the bomb. It’s been like this since the bomb. Little boxes — who believes in them? Weather changes — heat waves here, droughts there, floods where they don’t need no more water, stinks in the air — don’t tell
me
it ain’t got nothing to do with all that atomic experimental stuff. You know damn well —”

“Oh, yeah, atomic bomb. Well let me tell you there’s a lot of things happening you can’t explain by bombs or Russians or any of that kind of crap. You ain’t seen them flying saucers? Well, I have. This whole thing happening here, the blackouts and the red water and those people dying, it’s from space, fella, it’s from space. Sure, we’re infiltrated. I tell you, I saw that burned-out place where that thing had landed, and that was nothing from this
earth,
boy —”

“Oh, you and your Martians, Billy Joe! It’s people! People right here in our midst. Maybe you. Maybe Dewey. Maybe Chuck. Maybe —” “Maybe,
you,
you —!”

Hakim threw away his half-finished cigarette. This will burst soon, he thought. It cannot go on. If this is what They were trying to do, They were succeeding admirably. He started to walk on in his darting stride. It was then that he saw the man coming down the steps of the shabby building and passing under the street light so that the glow fell on his face. The man turned toward Hakim. His walk was unhurried but somehow tense, and although he was still too far off for positive identification, there was a chunkiness about his body and slight curvature of the legs that augmented Hakim’s first startling impression of his face.

Hakim reeled slightly and fished out another cigarette.

The man came closer and drew level with him.

“Hey, buddy, got a match?” asked Hakim.

The man looked sideways at him and shook his head impatiently.

The bar’s light spilled across his face — and Hakim knew him.

“Pity,” he said pleasantly.

His lanky right leg shot out in unison with his arm and he gave one sharp tug. The man landed heavily and rolled over like a wounded animal. Hakim was upon him instantly, his lean fingers groping expertly for the tender points of the man’s neck.

Then something stabbed Hakim sharply in the side. Not a knife, nothing so crude as that. A needle point.

He felt his senses swimming even as his hands tightened about the neck. Again the pinprick sensation. He saw the other man’s arms darting and flailing, and he knew that he himself was going under. Swift-acting drug, his brain told him coldly; and he knew that there was only one way he could win this fight. He had wanted the man alive, but now the man would have to die.

His body felt like lead and the other was squirming beneath him. Finally, he managed one swift lurch to plant a savage knee-jab in the man’s groin. Then his strong fingers squeezed inexorably.

But the man kept squirming.

So, with a great effort, Hakim lifted the thick, heavy body to a sitting position and smashed the head down hard on the concrete sidewalk.

And still the chunky body squirmed.

Groggily, Hakim groped for the fountain pen in his top pocket. Its delicate point suddenly elongated three inches at his fumbling touch. He sank it deep into the neck he was still clutching with one feeble hand.

In the growing haziness he was dimly aware of the swinging bar doors bursting open and shouting men spilling out onto the sidewalk.