Butcher of Belgrade Read online

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  A KILLER AT THE TOP OF HIS BLOODY PROFESSION…

  A man unknown to any professional Intelligence Service in the world. The mastermind behind a billion-dollar private spy network called Topcon, Inc. A sadist whose brutal power reached halfway across the world…

  IN PARIS

  The Red defector scheduled to fill Nick Carter in about Topcon's deadly game was knifed before he could utter a word.

  IN LAUSANNE

  The beautiful young German agent used every trick of her well-trained mind and body to destroy Nick's chances of finding Topcon.

  IN MILAN

  The Chinese operative almost stopped Nick permanently, with a killing karate chop. The Chicom agent was also after the man who ran Topcon.

  IN TRIESTE

  The mistress of a Nazi war criminal forced Nick into an explosive game of hide-and-seek. And while she sidetracked Nick, Topcon's elusive No. 1 man escaped once more.

  IN BELGRADE

  A macabre masquerade turned into a nightmare as Nick Carter finally discovered the true identity of Topcon's master!

  * * *

  Nick Carter

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  * * *

  Nick Carter

  Killmaster

  Butcher of Belgrade

  Dedicated to The Men of the Secret Services of the United States of America

  OCR Mysuli: [email protected]

  Prologue

  Like a great black snake, the Orient Express slid out of the station at Milan. Picking up speed, the train burst out of the city and into the green Italian countryside, whining along the rails as it raced toward Trieste.

  In a compartment near the rear of the swaying train, a small, nervous man sat alone, his brown suitcase at his feet. His name was Carlo Spinetti. He was a tradesman, homeward bound after a journey to visit distant relatives. As he gazed out of the train window at the landscape speeding past, he thought how glad he would be to see his wife and children again. This business of travel might be exciting for some, but for Carlo Spinetti the incessant hustle and bustle of crowds proved a strain on the nerves.

  A tall man opened the door to the compartment and stood looking at Carlo with cool, dark eyes that seemed to have been chiseled out of ebony. His gaze dropped to the brown suitcase Carlo had not bothered to place in the luggage rack. A faint smile curled the corner of the man's mouth, and then he stepped the rest of the way into the compartment and sat down opposite Carlo, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  "Getting off at Trieste, are you?" he asked.

  Carlo Spinetti blinked and stirred in his seat. He was surprised that this stranger knew his destination. He said, "Yes, and you?"

  The man continued to smile as though he knew about a joke that was being kept from Carlo. "I am also getting off at Trieste."

  Five minutes later, a heavyset man entered the compartment. He closed the door and leaned against it, studying Spinetti as the first man had. His gaze, too, dropped to the bag at Spinetti's feet. Then he nodded to the tall man as though the two of them knew each other from some distant past.

  Instinctively, Carlo reached down and shifted the suitcase that seemed to interest the two strangers. He could not have explained their interest. The bag was battered and worn, and it contained little of value except Carlo's clothing and some small gifts he was taking home to his family.

  "Are you going to Trieste too?" he nervously inquired of the second stranger.

  "Yes." The voice was gruff and harsh. The heavyset man sank to a seat alongside the first stranger and folded his arms over his chest. He sat there silently, his eyes hooded as though he had dozed off, while the train churned on.

  Carlo wriggled uncomfortably. He told himself he must be imagining the threat he felt behind their casual words. Both men were more expensively dressed than he was. Their faces appeared hard, but they did not look like thieves who stole from innocent travelers.

  "What is the matter with you, my friend? You seem a little jumpy," said the tall man mockingly.

  Carlo worked a finger in his collar to loosen it. "I was wondering — could it be that you know me?"

  "No, my friend, I don't know you."

  "I have the feeling that you are staring at me."

  "I'm looking at you, but I'm not staring," said the tall man. Then he laughed.

  Carlo's nervousness was rapidly turning to fear. Telling himself that he didn't have to stay here, that he could change compartments, he leaned down and quickly grabbed hold of his suitcase. But as he started to move from his seat, the tall man across from him lashed out with his foot and pinned the suitcase in place, blocking Carlo's path with his leg.

  "Do not leave us, my friend. We are enjoying your company," he said in a menacing voice.

  Suddenly the eyes of the heavyset man flicked open. He glared at Carlo. "Yes, sit down. And be quiet if you don't want to be hurt."

  Carlo dropped back into his seat. He was trembling. He felt something crawling on his cheek. He swiped at it with his hand, then realized it was a stream of sweat.

  "Why are you doing this? I have never seen you before. What could you want from me?"

  "I told you to be quiet," growled the heavyset man.

  Bewildered and frightened, Carlo stayed in his seat until the train pulled into the station at Trieste. He was so terrified that he arose only when the heavyset man stood up and gestured. "Let's go. You walk ahead of us."

  The tall man had reached into his coat. He produced a knife with a short, broad blade. "We will take your suitcase, my friend. Behave yourself if you wish to live."

  Carlo protested. "I am carrying nothing of value in my suitcase. Surely this is a mistake; you have the wrong man."

  "We have the right man and the right suitcase." The knife's sharp point pricked Carlo's neck. "Shut up and start walking."

  As Carlo moved slowly down the steps of the train, sweating and shaking with fear, it came to him that perhaps these men would kill him no matter what he did. Panic thundered in his brain. He stepped to the station platform and his eyes caught a glimpse of a policeman's uniform in the crowd. Instinctively he yelled, "Please help me!"

  He started to run toward the policeman, and then the blade of the knife sank savagely into his neck. He staggered, gasping. What was the reason for it? Why did they want his suitcase? Bewildered to the end, he lunged blindly off the edge of the platform and plunged downward onto the tracks with a scream that trailed off into a dying sob…

  One

  A soft rain was falling on Washington. Thick fog hung over the city like a gray overcoat When I looked from the window of my hotel room, I could see just about as far as I could throw the Pentagon. Just for the hell of it, I tried to make out the shape of the Soviet Embassy down the street. I wondered if any of the boys there were busy thinking up projects that I'd be assigned to abort.

  The telephone rang and I moved to it quickly. I was waiting for a message from David Hawk, the man who called the signals for AXE, the cloak and dagger agency that employed me. The work was risky, and sometimes the hours were terrible, but I got to meet a lot of interesting people.

  The voice that came over the line belonged to one of Hawk's assistants. "The Old Man is in a meeting and he sends word that he'll be tied up for quite a while. He says for you to take the night off and check in with him tomorrow."

  "Thanks," I told the voice and hung up with a scowl. When David Hawk got tied up in long meetings, it
usually meant something had gone wrong for our side.

  Impatience gnawed at me as I stripped off my hardware — the Luger in the shoulder holster, the stiletto up my sleeve, the small gas bomb I often wore taped to the inside of my thigh — and stepped into the shower. Sometimes my business was just like the military: hurry up and wait. For two days now I'd been in Washington awaiting orders, and Hawk still hadn't told me what was up. When it came to inscrutability, many Orientals could have taken lessons from the lean-faced old pro who commanded AXE's operations.

  Hawk had summoned me to the capital from New Delhi, where I'd just completed an assignment. The summons had been tagged Priority Two, which signified that urgent business was at hand. Only Priority One instructions could bring an agent winging homeward any faster, and Priority One was reserved for the kind of messages dispatched when the President was on the hot line and the Secretary of State was chewing his fingernails down to the knuckles.

  Since my arrival, however, I'd been able to talk to Hawk only once, and that conversation had been brief. He'd told me only that he had an assignment coming up that was right down my alley.

  Right down my alley. That probably meant it could get me killed.

  I wound a towel around my waist and listened to the news as I shaved. Now much was happening in the world that hadn't happened before, and most of that wasn't too good. Along with the dismal weather, it was enough to send a dedicated drinker back to the bar for another double bourbon. But it was not a night that couldn't be brightened up considerably if a man knew the right girl. And I knew one.

  Her name was Ellen. She worked for one of those high-priced legal beagles who specialize in arguing cases before the Supreme Court. I didn't know how good an attorney he was, but if his briefs were one-half as dazzling as his secretary, he probably never lost a case.

  I hadn't seen Ellen in almost a year, but since she knew the line of business I was in, I didn't have to offer any long-winded explanation when I called her. She said she'd cancel her other plans for the evening. I drove across town to her apartment in the car AXE had furnished for me. The fog was so thick I had to move at a snail's pace.

  Ellen was wearing a clinging, low-cut black dress. She took my raincoat, then threw her arms around my neck, pressing her full breasts against me, and gave me a kiss that would have melted the eyebrows on a statue.

  "You don't waste any time," I told her.

  "With you, there's never any time to waste. You're here today, gone tomorrow." She smiled up at me. "I take it you're still working for that nasty old man, Hawk?"

  "That's right, but tonight I'm all yours."

  She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds very interesting, Mr. Carter."

  We decided against going out. The weather was too lousy, and besides, the truth was that neither of us wanted to get too far away from the bedroom. After Ellen broiled us steaks as thick as the Sunday New York Times, we sat around and drank wine and talked about what had happened to us during the year since we'd seen each other. She brought me up to date on her activities, and I told her where I'd been, if not all of the things I'd done.

  Then I put my glass down and moved closer to her on the long sofa. With a slow smile, she drained the rest of her wine and then leaned over, the black gown falling away from her white breasts, and placed her glass alongside mine.

  "At last, Nick," she said. "I was beginning to think you'd never get around to it."

  I laughed softly and let my fingers glide down into her gown and over the softness of her breast. Her nipple was hard and taut against my palm. I kissed her and felt her darting tongue, and then she turned and fell back into my lap.

  Lingering on her mouth, I explored it until she was responding hotly. By the time the kiss was over, she was breathless, her breasts pumping up and down.

  "Nick, it's been much too long."

  It had indeed, I thought.

  Rising, I pulled her to her feet, reached around and unfastened the dress in back. I slipped the straps slowly off her shoulders, then bared the full breasts. I kissed her again and her hands moved on my back.

  "The bedroom where it used to be?" I asked.

  She nodded, seeking my mouth again, and I picked her up and carried her through the door to the bed.

  "All right?" I asked, standing over her as I peeled off my coat.

  "All right, Nick."

  I finished undressing and hung the Luger on the back of a chair. Ellen was watching me, her eyes dark and smoldering.

  "I wish you hadn't worn that thing," she said. "It reminds me of what you do for a living."

  "Someone has to do it."

  "I know. But it's so dangerous. Come here, Nick. Hurry up. I want you now."

  As I crossed to her, she was wriggling out of the dress and the black panties, which were all she wore underneath it. While I caressed her inner thigh, I placed a row of kisses across her breasts. She writhed as though my touch had set her afire.

  Then I was entering her and she was surging underneath me, timing her movements to mine. We climaxed together.

  She was all that I had remembered, and more.

  Our bodies were still joined when I heard the telephone on the bedside table ring. Ellen made a face, then wormed out from under me and picked up the receiver. She listened to the voice on the line, then thrust the receiver at me. "It's that man."

  "I hope I didn't interrupt anything," said David Hawk.

  "You came damn close," I told him. "How did you know where I was?"

  "An educated guess, I suppose you'd call it I know I told you to take the night off, Nick, but things have finally started to pop. I'd like for you to get over to the shop right now."

  I slammed down the receiver, got out of bed, and put my clothes back on. "Any messages for that nasty old man?" I asked Ellen as I made my way to the door.

  "Yes," she said with a faint smile. "Tell him I think his timing is terrific."

  The rain had let up by the time I reached the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services Building, on Dupont Circle. This was the shop, as Hawk called it, the cover for AXE's center of operations.

  Only the lights in Hawk's offices were burning as I hurried along the silent corridor. A pair of men sat in the outer office. One of them jerked his thumb toward the other door, and I went in and found Hawk at his desk. He looked as though he'd been missing too much sleep.

  "Well, Nick, how was the night off?" he asked in a dry voice.

  "It was great while it lasted." I sat down without being asked.

  "I've been running from one damned meeting to another trying to get the details worked out on this assignment of yours." Hawk's contempt for red tape showed in his expression. "Now something has happened that lends it special urgency. I'm briefing you tonight because I want you on a plane to Paris in the morning."

  "What do I do when I get there?"

  Hawk opened a drawer and took out a manila folder. From the folder he extracted some photographs. He slid the pictures across the desk. "Look at these. That unimpressive little gadget you see there is an extremely valuable piece of equipment."

  I examined the three photographs carefully. "It's an electronic device, obviously. But what else is it?"

  "As you know, we have a very complex satellite monitoring system. It's much better than anything the Russians or the Chinese have been able to perfect. A great part of the success of our system is the gadget shown in those pictures. It has the capacity to zero in on a tiny moving target from a great distance, and to pick up the smallest sounds emitted by that target."

  "I can see why it's valuable."

  Hawk tore the wrapping off a black cigar. "It allows us to monitor everything the Soviets are receiving on their spy satellites, and to record it all for decoding later. As far as satellite intelligence is concerned, it's the most coveted item in the world."

  "And it's no larger than a man's fist."

  Hawk nodded and sank his teeth into the cigar. "Which means it's easy to steal and easy to conceal."
/>   I could almost guess the rest. "Someone on the other side got hold of one of the devices?"

  "We let the British have a few of them. One was stolen in London."

  "The Russians?" I asked.

  "No," Hawk said. "But they'd sure as hell like to have it. So would the Chinese. Now, let me ask you a question, Nick. How much do you know about an organization called Topcon?"

  When I heard the name, I leaned forward. My reaction must have revealed my quickening interest because Hawk permitted himself a thin and somewhat weary smile.

  "Topcon," I repeated. "I know that it exists. Like you, I hear the gossip of the spying trade."

  "It's a privately owned and operated intelligence operation. An efficient one. It seemed to spring out of nowhere not long ago, but it immediately became a factor in the espionage war between East and West. Topcon steals secrets and sells them to the highest bidder. Up to now, it's been mostly our secrets that were stolen and mostly the Reds who bought them."

  Hawk really was tired. He placed his unlighted cigar in an ashtray and knuckled his eyes. "Topcon is a shadowy organization, Nick, apparently tightly-knit and carefully policed. It may be the best private spying outfit set up since Gehlen formed his in Germany after the war. And we can't identify the person who heads it. That sort of information has eluded us."

  "I know. I could make a couple of stops in almost any large city in Europe and come out with the addresses of the local Soviet and British intelligence chiefs, but Topcon is a different matter entirely. I couldn't give you the name of anyone who works for them."

  "And I suppose you've been wondering when AXE would challenge this outfit and try to find out who runs it."

  I grinned. "I'd like the job, if that's what you mean."

  "Nick, Topcon has the precious little gadget shown in those photographs. They've put it up for auction."

  Hawk opened the folder again and took out a newspaper clipping which he passed to me. "Before I go on, I want you to read this news item."