“What is the price?”
“What do you care what it is? You’ve nothing to lose.”
“Sometimes the price is too much to pay.”
“Do you want to die?”
He answered with a question of his own.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to know what it was that almost cost you your life.”
The Russian grimaced as another shudder of pain went through his body.
“I’m cold,” he said, almost in surprise.
“That’s shock. You need medical attention. Are you ready to trade?”
He shrugged fatalistically. “I have no choice, have I, Amerikanski? Not if I want to live — is that it?”
“That’s right.”
“And you...” He swallowed hard, afraid to hope. “Can you really give me protection?”
“More than that, Russian. I can promise you medical attention, hospitalization until you’re well again and a whole new identity. I can even arrange protection for you while you settle in any city in the States you’d like to call home. Is that enough?”
In the flashlight’s reflected glow, I saw his bloodstained lips twist in a smile. He let his eyes close.
“I like it,” he said dreamily. “But the irony of it amuses me. I’ve been a patriotic citizen all my life. Do you know, Amerikanski, I am a Hero of the Soviet Union? Oh, yes, I earned that medal! Now...” He drew another painful breath. “...Now I must become a traitor to Mother Russia if I want to live. What would you do in my place, Amerikanski?”
He reached out and touched my hand.
“Even... even more ironic... is the fact that I must save your country... just... just so that it can give me sanctuary! Don’t you find that... amusing?”
Amusing? Hell, I didn’t know what he was talking about.
He let go of my hand. “You have a deal, my friend.”
“The name is Carter,” I said. “Nick Carter. Now, let’s hear it. What’s this secret that almost cost you your life?”
He told me. It took him less than five minutes. He interrupted himself only occasionally to grit his teeth as spasmodic waves of pain racked his body.
What he told me was enough to make me realize that I had accidentally stumbled onto a threat to America more devastating than any atomic war could ever be!
There were no mad scientists. No atom bomb, no hydrogen holocaust, no skies full of Soviet nuclear MIRV missles. On the contrary, the Kremlin would sit back comfortably and do exactly nothing while our own country would go crazily to hell, destroying itself completely in just a matter of months!
Would you believe that the plan was created by a Soviet economist?
And there were just twelve days before the plan was scheduled to go into effect!
Chapter Three
I had to drive the Citroen station wagon down onto the sands of the calanque before I could get the Russian into it. He was almost unconscious by then and completely helpless, so I had one hell of a time trying to lift him over the tailgate of the car. I’d taken the precaution of wrapping him in the blanket so I wouldn’t get more of his blood on my clothes.
Clarisse was light enough to carry easily. I put her in the front seat with me. She was still unconscious. I didn’t know how long that would last, but every minute she was out gave me one more minute before I had to think up explanations for her. I was damn glad she hadn’t seen me kill the two Russians.
The road to Marseilles is Route N559. When you get into the environs of the city, it becomes the Avenue du Prado. There wasn’t much traffic on it at that time of night.
In the heart of the city I turned right onto La Canebière, the best known of the avenues of Marseilles. In the daytime La Canebière is jammed with shoppers, shop girls and sailors. Now, at three in the morning, the street was practically deserted. I drove past the Church of St. Vincent de Paul and onto the Boulevard de la Liberation.
Half a dozen turns in the small streets that cluster to the southeast of the railroad yards of the Gare St. Charles finally took me to the house I’d been looking for.
I left the Citroën at the curb and went up to the old, heavy wooden door. The brass knocker was green from years of neglect, the paint had long since peeled away, and the frame canted at a slight but definite angle. There was a modern doorbell to the right of the jamb. I pressed it and waited. After a long time a small panel in the top half of the door slid to one side and a voice asked, “Qui est la?”
“C’est moi — ouvre la porte, mon vieux!”
Jacques Crève-Coeur wasn’t as old as the house, but he looked it, and I doubt he was much younger. I’ve known him for years. He’s always looked on the verge of stumbling into his death bed from malnutrition, but you wouldn’t want to let his feeble, aged appearance fool you. He can get around pretty fast when he has to, and when he does, he’s deadly.
He opened the door wide, smiling broadly at me.
“You forgot to put your teeth in, you old rascal,” I told him. “Stop grinning at me like that.”
Jacques threw his scrawny arms around me in a tight, enthusiastic Gallic embrace. His breath was almost overpowering with the smell of garlic.
“What do you want from me now?” he asked in his thin voice, stepping back.
“What makes you think it isn’t a social visit?”
“At this time of night? Bah! In all the years I’ve known you, mon ami, you’ve never come to me unless you were in trouble, hein? What is it now?”
I told him about the wounded Russian in the car and about Clarisse. He paused for only a moment. Hiding wounded men from the authorities was nothing new to Jacques. He’d been a maqui leader during World War II and had hidden scores from the Nazis.
“Bring the Russian into the house,” he said. “I’ll see that he’s taken care of.”
“Will you get in touch with Washington for me, too?”
Jacques nodded. In the light coming from the house, I could see his scalp glowing pinkly under his sparse white hair. “I’ll inform them. Leave everything to me. Where can David get in touch with you?”
David. How about that! I’ve never yet had the nerve to call Hawk by his first name, but this old Frenchman did, and I’ll bet he even called him that to his face. Sometimes I wondered how many years those two had known each other and what adventures they had gone through together.
“He can’t,” I said. “Have Washington set up a direct flight for me. Top priority. Hawk will arrange it I’ll be at the airport in Marseilles in the morning. When I get to the States, I’d like to have him meet me at Andrews Field.”
“You know David doesn’t like to leave the office. The matter is truly that important?”
“Yes.”
The single word was enough. I knew Hawk would get the message. Jacques didn’t question me further except to ask, “And the girl?”
“We’ve been staying at the Ile Rousse in Bandol,” I said. “Somehow I don’t think it would be smart for either of us to go back there. Where do you suggest I leave her? She may need medical attention, too. She’s been hit on the head.”
Jacques took only a moment. “Aix-en-Provence,” he said. “It’s not too far a drive. I’ll have a friend meet you at the Roy René Hotel.”
I nodded my approval. Then, together, Jacques and I got the Russian into the house. He was completely unconscious by now. I left him stretched out on the couch in the living room. Jacques was on the telephone even before I closed the door behind me. I knew that in minutes there would be a doctor attending to him. I also knew that within the hour the Russian would be in a private clinic receiving the best medical attention and that when he was well enough to travel, he’d be flown secretly to the States. Hawk would keep my promises to the Russian.