Certainly what Stoke would like to do was stay aboard a big yacht on the Riviera. Hell, who wouldn’t? The beds were soft, the food was sensational, the morning sun was bright on the water, dancing gold coins on the surface, and white seagulls and terns were diving overhead. Made him kind of hate to leave.
But Hawke had called from the carrier Lincoln early this morning, round six. Brought him up to speed on the big CIA briefing out there. He wanted to know all about Jet. How she was doing. What Stoke thought about her. And her German boyfriend, von Draxis. One thing led to another and Stoke suddenly found himself with a brand new mission in life. Boss wanted him to go to Germany. Seemed that CIA guy, Harry Brock, the one they’d snatched off the Star, was doing a lot of talking now.
One of the things he talked about was some kind of French-German-Chinese operation. Something code-named Leviathan that originated in Germany. Von Draxis had a heavy hand in it, the boss said. Hawke wanted Stoke to go check out this von Draxis character a little more. Dig, poke, rattle the hometown cages in old Deutsch-land.
After what the man had done to Jet, that cage, Stoke couldn’t think of anything more fun than rattling von Draxis’s own cages some more. If it ain’t fun, stop. One of Stoke’s favorite mottoes.
Last time Stokely had had any real fun at all was down in the Florida Keys. That was a couple of years ago, back when he and Ross Sutherland were chasing that Cuban bad boy Scissorhands and his badass Cigarette boat to hell and gone along the Mosquito Coast of South Florida. Heat ’n Skeet, the SEALs had called that part of the Keys. That’s where Vicky’s murderer was running when they’d caught up with him. They caught him all right and stuck his ass in the ground for good on a place called No-Name Island.
“So, what do you think,” Stoke said. “See, I’m going to Germany. I could drop you off somewhere. Not that boat over there. That boat is definitely bad for your health, girl.”
Jet lit another smoke off the red coal of the old one. Her third since he’d been watching. Girl needed a new program. He had an idea for one that might do her some good.
She said, thinking about it, “Is Schatzi still aboard over there?”
“Der Führer? Hell no, girl, Schatzi’s long gone. He left in his big Nazi-black helicopter last night. Winging his way back to his Berlin flughafen.”
Jet was no longer surprised at the things Stoke knew about Schatzi or the comings and goings aboard the big German yacht. He’d told her a little bit about Blackhawke’s snooping capabilities. Didn’t mention the ship’s Aegis Defense System or Towed Array Sonar or any of that stuff. Just told her about how their commo center could eavesdrop on any radio or cell transmission within a radius of twenty miles or so. Triangulate the location, too, though he didn’t mention that part.
“So, I could go get my things.”
“Yeah, you probably could. What kind of things?” Stoke asked.
“Jewelry. A few clothes. Things I need.”
“An acetylene torch so you can hop in and out of bed.”
“That’s actually funny,” she said, coughing up some smoke.
“Thanks. You got a house, Jet?”
“A flat in Paris.”
“How about the baron?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where does he live mostly? Good old Schatzi, the lion tamer.”
“I don’t live with him, if that’s what you mean.”
“You’re not that crazy.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m leaning that way. Where does he live, Jet? I need to know.”
“He has houses all over Germany. There is a large one in Berlin. On Friedrichstrasse. Number 7. He also has a secret mountain château in Bad Reichenhall. Huge. A schloss. That’s ‘castle’ in Bavarian.”
“That’s helpful. Thanks.”
“Are you going to kill him? Blow him up?”
“How can I? You’re in love with the guy, remember?”
She laughed, making a raw sound. “Love? I was young. A somewhat exotic Chinese girl in Berlin trying to get into films. My background was—interesting to him. I’d just started working for the Chinese secret police. He was a successful film producer then. He cast me.”
“Happens all the time.”
“An escape from my crazy family.”
“Have you got a sister, Jet?”
“That’s an odd question, isn’t it, Mr. Jones?”
“Humor me.”
“There’s a twin sister. Bianca. We aren’t close. Why do you ask?”
“Humor me again.”
“She still works for my father. Te-Wu agent. I’ve no idea where she is. They don’t tell me anymore. Tell me about Alex Hawke.”
“What about him?”
“What is he like? As a man?”
“Grit clean through.”
Girl had no reply to that, just sucked the cigarette coal down to her fingertips and flicked it, jammed another one in the corner of her mouth, and lit up again.
“I like him. Tough outside. Soft inside,” Jet said.
Stoke looked at her and asked, “Okay, now you tell me about von Draxis. Why’d he beat you up, Jet? Something to do with Alex Hawke?”
“I’m going back to Valkyrie.”
“I figured that. They even got a syndrome named for that. Battered Movie Star Syndrome.”
“You don’t understand. I just want to get my things.”
“Good call. Sarge will get someone to run you over there whenever you ready.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. You’re all torn apart, girl. Hell, you don’t know what you want. Mixed loyalties. That’s dangerous. I don’t let dangerous women get too near Alex. He’s been hurt enough.”
“He can handle himself.”
“Yeah. Normally. Boy pretty much sealed himself up when his wife was murdered. But he likes you, too, for some unknown reason.”
“Ridiculous. He doesn’t even know me.”
“No, it ain’t. I like you, too, Jet. Don’t trust you worth a damn, but I like you.”
“When can I leave all this love?”
“Right now. Listen, Jet. Tell me something before you go. Why did your little pal Schatzi invite my boss to that party?”
“Spice up his guest list? Hawke is famous. He keeps his name out of the papers, but certain people know about him anyway. Schatzi likes to surround himself with famous people.”
“Wrong answer. Hawke makes people like Schatzi nervous. Hell, he makes me nervous sometimes and I’m his best friend. One of ’em, anyway. What Schatzi likes is to beat up women. He beat you up, girl! You let him down somehow, didn’t you? Was it the green-eyed monster? You and Alex Hawke got a little too close for comfort, that it?”
Jet sucked hard on her cigarette, burning it down to the filter. She looked up at Stokely, smiled, and then flicked the dead butt into the water. A symbolic gesture, they called it.
“Maybe,” she said.
“No more maybe. Tell me what all this is about, Jet.”
“I was supposed to find out why Hawke was in Cannes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did your job. So why’d Schatzi get so mad at you?”
“I was disobedient. My orders were to alert my colleague aboard the Star of Shanghai if I determined a hostage rescue was in play. I—hesitated. Hawke presented a clear threat and I did nothing.”
“What colleague?”
“My subordinate officer was aboard the Star with the prisoner. He took responsibility for reacquiring the American agent in Morocco. And returning him safely from France to Hong Kong. He and I work for the Te-Wu. Chinese secret police. I hold the rank of captain.”
“Your job to stop Alex, Cap?”
“My job was to kill him. I failed. I’d say my career at this point is pretty much over. Assuming I survive, I have no idea what to do next.”