Deathwish World

'That is the facade we present to the man in the street,' the other said, satisfaction in his voice.

'We?' Frank said.

'Mercenaries, Incorporated is represented in the highest echelons of the World Club.'

'That surprises me. I pictured the organization as a group of old-timers with more credits than they know what to do with, supporting a lot of foundations.'

Peter Windsor gave a snort of amusement.

The Graf said, 'I expect within a short time to be nominated to the Central Committee, which consists of but ten members and has the ultimate say in all of the World Club's policies.'

'I didn't even know they had a Central Committee,' Frank admitted.

'You're not supposed to, dear boy,' Peter said.

The Graf shot him an impatient look before turning back to Frank. He said, 'The real goal of the World Club, Franklin, is world government—a world that has become one under the aegis of the Club. Obviously, such a united world will no longer have wars and…'

Frank interrupted, 'But then what would happen to Mercenaries, Incorporated? It seems to me that your organization depends upon a multitude of antagonistic nations. You should be supporting nationalism, not trying to do away with it.'

The Graf smiled his gray smile. 'It's a far-seeing man who is able to accommodate inevitable changes, Franklin. Sooner or later there will be world government. When it comes about, I wish to be part of its direction, not a leftover from the past. This new world government will still have police, still have armed forces…'

Frank interrupted again. 'Why armed forces?'

The old mercenary nodded at the question. 'To keep the peace. Contrary to popular belief, the first need a state has for an armed force is not to fight foreign enemies but the potential enemy within. As an example, take Latin America before it amalgamated with the United States. They spent billions annually building up then* armed forces though there hadn't been a major war in South America for a century and a half. Those arms were to keep their own people in subjection. So in the future, armed forces will still exist. I will be at their head.'

Frank looked at him in open skepticism.

Margit said, 'The first steps have already been taken, Frank—the formation of the United States of the Americas. The World Club is already secretly agitating in Australia and New Zealand for them to apply for admission into the United States. For a long time now, those countries have been closer to America than to England and the rest of Common Europe.'

Frank looked over at her. Candlelight did nothing to detract from the charms of Margit Krebs. She flashed sloe eyes at him, aware of their impact.

He made a mental note of her obvious availability, then turned back to his host. 'If the United States of the Americas eventually becomes a United States of the World, wouldn't the IABI become the international police force?'

The Graf waved that aside, saying, 'It's true that John Warfield Moyer, a member of the Central Committee, foresees a united world in which his IABI will be the sole police force; but his organization has been a farce since before the FBI and the CIA were joined together. An organization of clowns, headed by clowns, compared to my own. Moyer will be taken care of, in good time.'

Frank thought about it. He said slowly, 'Then you're in the process of phasing out your mercenary activities in expectation of becoming legal under this new world regime.'

'That's one way of putting it,' Peter said.

Lothar von Brandenburg said, 'You are beginning to have second thoughts about my organization, Frank?'

'Perhaps. What about these assassinations, though?'

'Such as the Mahdi? The only thing that will make sense under a world government is a state religion. The United Church, under the Prophet, backs the World Club. The fanatic who calls himself the Mahdi stands in the way of the amalgamation into one of all the world's religions. I'm afraid he must go. Others, too, of course. Always remember, Franklin, that a comparatively few key figures can change history. The example of Somerset Maugham comes to mind. In his earlier years, while working for British espionage, he was sent to Petrograd to sabotage the Bolshevik revolution. He wrote later that if he had been sent two weeks earlier he might have accomplished his task and the revolution would never have taken place. How would he have done this? He probably had in mind the assassinations of Lenin and Trotsky and perhaps of a few others of the old Bolsheviks.'

The American said grudgingly, 'I suppose in some respects you've made your point. Under some circumstances, assassination can be called for. But what happens when someone approaches you with a proposal to kill someone who doesn't deserve killing?'

The Graf raised his eyebrows. He put down his glass of wine. 'My dear Franklin, we are pragmatists, not mad dogs. Our interests are not only money. Suppose, for instance, that Mercenaries, Incorporated was approached by an enemy of the Prophet. As I told you, we support the United Church in its efforts to join all organized religions into a single worldwide state church, ending once and for all conflicts between faiths. Very well, not only would we refuse the contract, but we would inform Ezra Hawkins, the Prophet, about this foe of his, so that he could take steps to protect himself.'

'By hiring Mercenaries, Incorporated to eliminate the enemy?' Frank said.

Peter Windsor chuckled. 'You're catching on, dear boy.'*

Following dinner, they sat for a time in the living room over coffee and cognac. The talk drifted, in deference to Frank, to stories involving his father. The Graf carried most of the conversation, since his relationship with Buck Pinell had extended over years, but Peter Windsor was also able to contribute a few anecdotes. Most of the stories were of a humorous nature and it came to Frank that combat veterans seldom talked much about actual combat itself. When it was shop talk, yes; something involving business at hand. But not as light conversation. Perhaps amateurs might brag of their exploits under fire, but professionals, no. And you couldn't get much more professional than Lothar von Brandenburg and Peter Windsor.

When the party broke up, Margit offered to conduct Frank back to his suite. The winding corridors and stone stairways of the keep took some learning, and under the influence of the wines during the meal and the generous brandies following it, Frank wasn't sure he could find his way unaided. The Graf looked tolerant, Peter amused, as they said their goodnights. On the morrow, Frank was to be assigned a guide to show him the Wolfschloss in detail.

As they strolled along the stone corridor, Frank decided that nicety wasn't called for.

He said, 'Your rooms, or mine?'

She looked up at him from the side of her eyes. 'I thought you'd never ask. Yours. You might never find your way bck to your own suite in the morning.'

And that was the full extent of their courting, then- preliminary love play. Margit was a businesslike woman, in her sex life as well as her secretarial work.

In fact, she was as straightforward a woman as he had ever bedded, and at his age, Frank had seldom gone without horizontal refreshments when he had desired them.

In his bedroom, she had stripped with flattering haste, and had pirouetted exactly once, to show off the woman's body, saying, 'Like me?' before sliding into the emperor-sized canopied bed.

His voice was on the thick side as he told her, 'Yes,' climbing out of his own clothes.

'Good heavens,' she said, teasing him, 'is that for me?'

'Yes,' he said hoarsely, already rampant.

Not for Margit Krebs were new variations of the world's oldest theme. She took her sex straight and lustily, somewhat surprising Frank, who had expected unique desires on the part of this sophisticated wanton. Perhaps that would come later, he decided as he performed for her. For the present, his lady wanted immediate basic action.

And wanted it again, within minutes after they had both reached rapturous climax. He began to wonder if he had known what he was getting into, so to speak.

Later, as they rested, both staring up at the rich cream-colored canopy above, he said, only partly in humor, 'And what is a nice girl like you doing in this kind of work?'

She followed along. 'What's the classic answer to that? Just lucky, I guess.'