The Death Strain Read Free

her breast, outlined through the hostess gown. She shivered.
    "Damn you. You better come back now," she said.
    "If I can come back, I'll come," I said. "And you know it." A fleeting smile in her eyes told me she did.
* * *
    The lights of the AXE offices on DuPont Circle in the heart of Washington were yellow eyes watching me as I approached. A long, black Lincoln pulled away from the curb just as I reached the front door and I saw the small State Department seal on it. Full security was on, I noted as I showed credentials three times, right up to the pretty little thing in the outside office.
    Two men sat there, briefcases beside each of them, looking for all the world like salesmen, Their fast, probing eyes that watched my every move gave them away. I smiled pleasantly at them and grinned inwardly at the effort it took them to nod back.
    The girl had put my card through her little computer and a tiny screen beside the desk showed her my picture. It also told her I was AXE Agent N3, rating
Killmaster,
could pilot a plane, drive Formula 1 racing cars, speak three languages perfectly and four more passably. It also told her I was single, and when she handed me back my card her eyes were full of interest. I made a mental note to get her name. The Chief, for all his New England conservatism, knew how to brighten up the outer office.
    He was in his leather chair, spare, lean face controlled as usual, steel-blue eyes alert. Only the way he kept shifting the unlit cigar from side to side told me he was unusually agitated. He always chewed rather than smoked his cigars. It was the speed at which he chewed them that was the tip-off.
    "Big visitors at this time of night," I commented, sliding into a chair. He knew at once I was referring to the State Department limousine.
    "Big trouble," he said. "That's why I didn't want it spread that you dashed out of tie Nestors' house. We've already got enough newshawks sniffing around."
    He sighed, sat back and regarded me with a long stare.
    "I only sent you to attend that bacteriological symposium because I wanted you to get up to date on the stuff," he mused aloud. "But sometimes I think I'm psychic."
    I didn't debate the point. I'd seen plenty of evidence of it.
    "You're aware of the Cumberland Research Operation, of course " he said.
    "Only aware of it," I answered. "Our virus factory. The stuff that's been getting such a second look from so many people lately."
    Hawk nodded. "In the Cumberland operation there are sixty bacterial strains for which man has no known antidote. Let loose, they could wipe out whole areas and perhaps more than just areas. Of them all, the deadliest strain is one called X–V77, X–Virus seven-seven. Sometime between four-ten and four-twenty this afternoon, X–V77 was removed from the Cumberland Repository."
    I let out a low whistle. "It was," Hawk continued, "removed by the Director of Cumberland, Dr. Joseph Carlsbad, and three other men unknown to us. Two guards were killed."
    "Carlsbad is the guy who's been making noises of late," I recalled. "Is he some land of kook?"
    "That'd be too simple," Hawk said. "He's a brilliant bacteriologist who, as we piece it together, worked along with us so he'd be in a position to influence government thinking. When he found he couldn't really do that, he began planning to take things into his own hands."
    "You say planning. That means you feel this wasn't a sudden, impulsive action."
    "Hell, no," Hawk said. "This move took a lot of planning. This was left at the scene."
    He pushed a note at me and I read it quickly, aloud. "I have stopped talking," it said. 'This is my ultimatum. Unless all bacteriological warfare stockpiles are destroyed, I will destroy those who would destroy mankind. Science cannot be misused for political ends. I shall be in further contact. Unless what I say is done, I will strike a blow for all people everywhere."
    Hawk got up, paced the room and gave me a total picture as it had been reconstructed. When