Nick Carter
The Mark of Cosa Nostra
Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America
One
For me it started in a small resort just outside the town of Flagstaff, Arizona. AXE has one of its training schools there. There wasn’t much activity around the resort itself because this was spring and the action in the surrounding mountains didn’t really begin until the first snow. It was an area for skiing, for snow bunnies and warm rum, fireplaces in wood lodges with snowflakes floating against windows, and the smell of toasting marshmallows.
But this was spring, and the snow people had not yet begun their trek to the mountain town of Flagstaff. The AXE resort was almost a mile high and looked far down to the town.
I was told to disguise myself as soon as I arrived, according to a photo handed me. I studied the picture in my room while waiting for the man from make-up. The name of the face was Thomas Acasano and I would get to know it well during the next week.
It was an interesting face. The eyes were set well back in the head. The eyebrows were bushy and like the thick mustache and equally thick head of hair, they were the color of salt and pepper. The nose was Roman, the lips sensuous and full. It was the face of a man who seemed to know the ways of the world and took life on no terms but his own. This was not a face you would find working behind a desk. Nor would you find it smiling at a playful child. You would expect to see it looking down at a freshly killed corpse. It was a cold face that belonged behind the sights of a weapon. I was going to wear that face.
In the following week I learned about the man that went with the face. It took two days to make me look exactly like him. Our bodies were about the same but some wrinkling had to be done to the backs of my hands and neck, and I had to get used to wearing contact lenses of an almost tan color. Since I wouldn’t be involved with anyone who knew intimate details about the man, I was allowed to keep my own personal weapons: Wilhelmina, my stripped-down Luger, in her holster under my left arm; Hugo, my thin stiletto, in his special sheath attached to my left arm, so when I shrugged he would fall from the sheath into my hand ready for use; Pierre, my tiny gas bomb, resting comfortably between my legs like a third testicle, ready to release its super-deadly gas within five seconds after I twisted the two halves and got rid of it. Pierre never gave me much time to get the hell away, but his work was sudden and permanent.
It seemed that Thomas Acasano was the leader of one finger of the Cosa Nostra complex. Why I had to become a Mafia leader I still didn’t know, even after a week of studying the man. I had learned the background of Acasano, a widower, a man who rose from being a bookie runner to his present position of family boss in a New York suburb. He was known to the Cosa Nostra as a man of integrity. He would not rat on a friend. He was of even temperament and often acted as referee to other family squabbles. Rumors around the Mafia were that Acasano would someday achieve greatness as a family leader. But for now, at forty-eight, he was considered too young to assume a great deal of control.
I brushed up on my Italian and, after a week, I knew as much about Thomas Acasano as AXE knew. But I didn’t know where he was right then, and I didn’t know why I had become him. I was told all these things would be explained by Hawk during our next meeting.
I should explain how it is with these AXE training establishments. Sometimes they are used to groom an experienced agent for a coming assignment, but their main function is to train new AXE agents. There are probably a hundred of them scattered all over the world. But they do not remain in one spot for long. The places are constantly changed for obvious reasons. Any kind of permanent establishment other than AXE headquarters in Washington could be discovered and infiltrated by an enemy force.
The training of new agents is a twenty-four-hour job. They must be on the alert at all times because they never know when someone is going to throw them a curve. It was even the same with experienced agents there to pick up a new assignment; they had to be ready for surprises and attacks. It was a reflex test.
That was how I met Tanya.
I had been at the Flagstaff establishment for almost a full week and I had all the available information on Acasano. Since the first two days I had constantly used the Acasano disguise. If anyone knew Nick Carter, they would have a rough time recognizing me behind the get-up. The grounds around my rooms were green and lush. The mesquite seemed to grow everywhere. They were full of little green needles. All the walks were lined with these bushes and some distance behind them stood a forest of pines.
I had just left my quarters after a final briefing on Thomas Acasano’s eating habits. This briefing had been given to me by tape played on my own recorder. I left the door locked and walked along a mesquite-lined path breathing in the crisp mountain air. There was a slight bite to the air; it seemed almost to crackle with crystal clearness. A few clouds looking like fluffy pillows floated across a deep blue sky. Ahead of me I saw a group of twelve girls dressed in shorts and blouses moving in formation to the large green field far to my right. Physical fitness was one of the most important aspects of an agent’s training. I watched with a smile as they moved off in a half-trot.
The disguise was beginning to feel comfortable. I had even grown used to the thick mustache. As I walked I thought about Thomas Acasano and his role in La Cosa Nostra. And I looked forward to the meeting with Hawk and getting my questions answered.
I felt the movement rather than heard it. An electrical charge zipped across my shoulder blades and I automatically pinpointed where it was coming from. I could hear it now. The mesquite behind me and to my right was stirring. This only took split fractions of a second. Then I heard someone coming up quickly behind me.
I was ready. I did not pause or break my step. I kept walking casually until whoever it was got close enough for me to do something. Then I moved quickly.
I jumped to my left and pivoted. The two arms that were going to circle my neck came shooting in front of me. I reached for them, got hold of both slender wrists, then took a step backward and pulled. It was then I noticed the girl connected to the arms.
When I pulled, she started running to keep up with the force, but she was being pulled faster than her legs would carry her. She started to pitch forward and would have gone down if I hadn’t had hold of her wrists.
I turned completely around, pulling her with me. When I stopped I pushed her arms out and released them. She spun twice while moving down the path, then she stumbled right into the sharp needles of a mesquite bush. She let out a tiny squeal and disappeared behind the bush.
Everything turned quiet. I could hear a bluejay off in the forest somewhere. A hint of the girl’s perfume still lingered around me. I moved toward the bush, frowning. Had she taken off to where I couldn’t see her? Maybe she was hurt.
I thought back to what she was wearing. White blouse, dark brown skirt, brown loafers. And what had she looked like? Young, very young, under twenty-one. Long, lustrous brown hair, pert upturned nose, green eyes, not too tall, about five-four, ample curves, very nice legs. Remembering was good practice for agents, it burned the fatty tissue from the brain cells. But where had she gone?
I stepped over to the bush and started around it.
“Hyaa!” she shouted, and came at me from the left, arm raised for a karate blow which I guessed was supposed to break my collarbone.
I waited for her patiently. She was a little thing and her heart really seemed to be in it. When the blow came down I reached out to grab the wrist. That’s when she surprised me.