GOLGO 13
			Vol. 1, No. 1:
		       Operation Big Safe
		       (Big Safe Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
			Published by Lead Publishing Co.
			part 1 of 6

		This Adaptation by Michael House, 1989

Prologue:

	Hamburg, Germany, 1968:

	The man stood at the window of the room, wearing only briefs, with a
cigarette in his right hand and a medallion of unknown type hanging around his
neck.  The sign opposite--BECK's BIER--flashed on and off, on and off,
momentarily illuminating the window through which he stared.  He remembered,
for a moment, all the women he had seen earlier, each one behind her own
window...
	The man himself was very fit-looking--well-muscled without seeming
grotesquely so.  He was best described, perhaps, as "aesthetically pleasing"--
impeccably groomed, with close-cropped black hair and narrow, wide-set, dark
eyes--but not necessarily "handsome."  His features--his features were
difficult to distinguish; they might have been Asian, Caucasian, or some
combination of both.  However indeterminate his features, though, one thing was
certain: that face betrayed almost no expression at all.  The only other
distinctive feature about his face were the two symmetrical lines--possibly
plastic-surgery scars--which ran down from the inner corners of his eyes to the
corners of his mouth.
	Behind him, sprawled across a large double bed, lay a woman, half in,
and half out of, a bedsheet.  She, on the other hand, looked quite attractive,
with a well-proportioned, healthy-looking body, dark, wavy shoulder-length
hair, and sloe eyes, which she had just opened.  It was also quite evident that
she was completely naked.  She had that rumpled look that seems to be unique to
those who have just had a good screw--which she had.  All in all, she would
have been thought sexy, if not exactly beautiful, by anyone watching her--a
category which most emphatically did not include the man at the window.
	She rolled over toward the edge of the bed nearest the window, and, not
coincidentally, the man.  She started to put her feet on the floor, sitting on
the edge of the bed.  Still the man gave no sign of being aware of her
presence.  He kept on staring out the window, neither his expression nor his
stance changing in the least.
	However, the instant her foot actually touched the carpet, a number of
things happened in very rapid succesion.  First, the man whirled, dropping his
cigarette.  Then he came at her, his right fist leveled at her face.  Her eyes
and mouth opened wide in surprise and shock, and she screamed as he connected--
a scream that was abruptly cut short, as she fell backwards, struck her head on
one of the bedposts, and collapsed in a crumpled heap.  This last elicited a
slight widening of the eyes from the man, and a momentary expression of
annoyance, but even if he hadn't had more pressing matters to concern himself
with, he still most likely wouldn't have given the situation any more thought
than he already had.
	As it was, however, other events most definitely were about to take
place--the kind of events that demand one's total attention if one is to walk
away from them in one piece.
	The man caught the sound of running footsteps outside the door, and
looked in that direction.  Sure enough, two aggressive-looking men burst into
the room.  The one in the lead shouted, "What's going on here?"
	The sight of the naked and unconscious (or dead) woman on the floor
brought them both up short.  The lead man, who had a very square jaw and
features that looked like they really had been chiseled out of granite, shouted
again.
	"Wha-what's the meaning of this?  What are you trying to do, you
bastard?"
	All through this scene, the man simply stood by the window, facing into
the room, hands at his sides, and neither said anything, nor reacted in any
other fashion.
	Granite-jaw walked toward him, taking himself further into the room.
His partner, possessed of a more angular face, stayed by the door.  When he
stood directly across from the man, Granite-jaw snapped a spiked brass knuckles
onto his right hand.  The man followed him with his eyes, but did nothing else.
	He continued to do nothing else until Granite-jaw lunged at him with
the spikes, and a shout of "Bastard!"  Then he dodged backward, narrowly 
avoiding Granite-Jaw's first swing.  At the same time, he brought his own right
hand back, and then struck Granite-jaw's right wrist with a karate chop.  He
followed that up with a left chop to the throat, a right chop, palm upward, to
the solar plexus, and another left-hand chop to the back of the neck, which
caused blood to spurt from Granite-jaw's nose as he went down.
	The man turned to face his other opponent, Granite-jaw's partner,
without waiting to see Granite-jaw actually hit the floor.  This one, who had
a face and jawline almost completely the opposite of his fallen comrade's--
with a chin so weak that it almost came to a perfect point--shouted, "Damn!" as
he reached into his plaid jacket.
	The man balanced on the ball of his left foot and kicked the gun out of
his hand.  The gun, a Colt automatic, went skittering across the floor, and its
owner drew a switchblade as he slammed backwards into the door.
	The sight of the blade in his opponent's hand didn't slow the man down
in the slightest.  As the knife-wielder prepared to strike, the man, without
taking his eyes off his opponent, reached out and tore off a wide strip of the
curtain from the window he was standing next to.  Then he wrapped it tightly
around his right hand and waited.
	He did not have to wait long at all.  The knife-wielder charged him
almost immediately.  He slashed, but all he got was a tear in the makeshift
mitt the man had put on.
	Meanwhile, outside, the sound of sirens heralded the arrival of the
Polizei, in a police car that looked like a Volkswagen Bug, but that acutally
had a Porsche engine under its hood.  It pulled up to a stop outside the
"house" that the aforementioned sequence of events had been, and was still,
taking place in.
	The man heard the approaching sirens, but his only acknowledgement of
them was a muttered "Damn!" of his own.  He kept his attention on the knife-
wielder, who was coming at him again.  This time, however, the man caught the
knife arm in the crook of his own right elbow, and holding his enemy's arm
rigid, brought his right thigh straight up into the arm he held.  There was
the sound of bones breaking, and the knife-wielder screamed.
	At that moment, three policement came in the front door of the
establishment, and three rather worried-looking women had come out of three
different rooms therein.  One of them was standing on the staircase leading up
to the second floor--and the room where the man was fighting a winning battle
for his life--and all looked in that direction with fear on their faces.
	A fourth woman met the police as they came in and told them that there
was trouble upstairs.  The policemen wasted no time in charging up the stairs.
	The man himself was wasting no time either.  Pulling on a pair of
pants, he grabbed a shirt and jacket and headed for the window.  He flung it
open, walked out to the ledge and jumped to the cobblestone street, landing not
more than ten feet away from three more policemen.
	Everyone, the man and the policemen alike, was taken by surprise.  The
man recovered fastest, and prepared to run.  But the policemen were not exactly
slow on the uptake, either.  They all drew their guns, and the one closest to
the man shouted, "Stop or we'll shoot!"  The man ran with no hesitation.
	Only to be brought up short by two more policemen coming the other way
down the street, well-illuminated by the glare from the headlights of their
police car.  "Damn!" he breathed again, and turned to look back over his
shoulder.  As he expected, the other three policemen were right there.  With
that many firearms pointed at him, there was nowhere he could go.

			GOLGO 13 Vol. 1, No.1
			Operation Big Safe
			(Big Safe Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
			Published by Lead Publishing Co.
			Part 2 of 6
			Chapter 1: Who Is the Sniper?! (Sogekisha wa!?)

			This Adaptation by Michael House, 1989

	A group of men sat in a darkened room of a square gray building in an
older section of London.  One of the men, the only one to be standing, did so
at his desk, and momentarily lit up the darkness, or at least his own corner of
it, with the match he struck for the cigarette betwen his lips.  The matchlight
revealed him to be a distinguished-looking older gentleman, perhaps in his
mid-fifties.
	When he had his cigarette going satisfactorily, he shook out his match
and gave an order.
	"Start the projector!"
	Instantly a beam of light shot forth from his desk, and a slide was
projected on a screen set up on the opposite side of the room.
	The picture it showed was an interesting one.  A number of African
military and/or government officials, all in uniform, were hovering around the
body of what was apparently one of their own, dead.  Other uniformed types were
holding back a crowd of civilian onlookers.  All of this appeared to be taking
place on the grounds of some sort of Governmental residence.
	The man with the cigarette spoke.
	"This is from the Congo riots.  The scene is out front of the Prime
Minister's residence in Leopold City.  General Rinumba, whose revolutionary
army succeeded in executing its coup d'etat, was shot by a sniper immediately
after he left the official residence.  He was killed from behind with one
bullet through the heart.  The bullet that was extracted bears a resemblance to
Long Magnum ammunition, but we know that this is really a
specially-manufactured item.
	"According to the investigation by the Small Arms Section, the gun that
was used was probably an Armalite M-16, with improvements for use as a
high-performance sniper rifle.  This is every inch the work of a professional!
	"After this, the revolutionary army was routed in a comeback by the
government troops."
	The speaker paused, then indicated in close-up a man who had an "X"
marked above his head in the picture.  He stoot at the back of the crowd, about
three deep.  "I want you to memorize this man's face for future reference," he
said.
	The face in question belonged unmistakably to the man who had last been
seen fighting for his life, and running from the police, in a brothel in
Germany.
	"Next!"
	The change between this scene and the one just previous was quite
dramatic, not so much because of the differences, which were largely
superficial, but rather because of the similarities, which ran much deeper.
	Once again, a man lay facedown in his own blood, surrounded by a number
of similarly dressed, apparently concerned people.  And as in the previous
scene, there were a number of onlookers further away.  The setting, though, was
a room in a posh, upper-crust mansion, and the people--considerably fewer than
had been present in the previous picture--were all dressed in fancy evening
wear--the men in tuexdoes, the one woman present, in a beautiful and expensive
looking gown.  In addition, one of the three onlookers at the far end of the
room once again had an "X" marked above his head in the picture.
	The smoker spoke again.
	"This photo was taken by a reporter for WPI, who just happened to be
present at this party.  On the night of Sept. 10, 1966, one year after Rinumba
was shot and killed, Peter Zordo, boss of smuggling on the island of Cyprus,
was killed in the midst of that party.  One shot, from behind, through the
heart, with a specially made Long Magnum bullet.  Here, too, there is no doubt
that the bullet came from a modified Armalite M-16.
	"Zordo's colossal fortune was seized by the government, and foreign
criminals were driven out."
	The image on the screen changed again, this time to a close-up of the
last picture, centering on the man at the far entrance to the room--the one
with the "X" marking above his head.
	The others in the room immediately started whispering excitedly:  "Yes,
that's him, that's the man, undoubtedly..."--as they all recognized him as the
man who had been so identified in the scene of the Rinumba assassination.
	The smoker continued.  "Not one of the people who was present that day
knew this man.  They assumed he was an invited guest.
	"The conclusion from those facts and these two photos is not a
difficult one to draw.  This man is indeed the expert sniper, the one who uses
the modified Armalite M-16.  We have been trying to find him with every means
of communication, and investigation, available to us.  As a result, we received
an extremely interesting communique from the foreign-affairs section of the
West German BND (translator's note: BND--Bundesnachrichtendienst: Federal
Intelligence Service).
	"Next!"
	The next slide showed the front of a prison, with one armed guard at
the gate and a sign which read: KONZENTRATIONSLAGER.  "This is a labor camp, one
which uses prisoners to do maintenance on the Autobahns and other highways.
Prisoners with comparatively minor terms are sent here.  'Minor,' however,
includes over two years, but still we have--this!"
	With a click, the slide changed again, this time to a mugshot of the
mystery man.  The bottom of the shot had the notation "E6" in the lower left
hand corner, and was labeled "G 1214--Name...unknown.  Address...unknown.
Place of origin...unknown."
	This caused a stir among those in the room.
	Another click, and the image changed to a close-up of the full-face
shot.
	One of the gentlemen leaned forward, adjusted his spectacles, and
asked, over the ongoing whisperings and mutterings, "Is he a Japanese?"  To
which the man immediately to his right replied, "Indeed."
	The standing man waited for the commotion to die down, then gestured
for another slide change.   While this was being done, he continued.
	"As to why he went to prison...we cannot help but rack our brains over
this!  The crime in question, in fact, was a crude, infantile thing, and
because of his professional-caliber conduct, was something completely unlike
him."
	The screen now showed a building with large windows on the ground
floor, and a woman sitting alone behind each one.  "At the display windows of
Hamburg's notorious brothel, he studied the women through eyes beaten half-to-
death," the standing man said.  "He was dead drunk, of course, but that isn't
how a professional behaves!  He was arrested for aggravated assault, but he
held his tongue and didn't say a word, so it's said.  The suggestion that he
might actually be mute is written down in the paperwork.  In the prison it's an
article of faith that he spoke to no one.
	"Things having come this point, we likewise were given much to think
about.  His firm perseverance in his own will shows that he is, therefore, the
consummate professional."
	He paused to light another cigarette, then continued.  "West German
police and prison authorities tried to draw him out, as would appear to be the
proper thing to do, but it seems to have been of no use.
	"Put up slide No. E6 again."
	The full-face mugshot reappeared.  "The other prisoners gave him the
name 'Golgo-13.'  We think that the '13' comes from his I.D. number having been
'1214', but we don't know what 'Golgo' stands for!  It might be a reference to
the thirteenth man, who betrayed Christ, put the crown of thorns on his head,
and crucified him on the hill of Golgotha.
	"The number 13, being abominated and associated in our society with bad
luck, somehow seems to fit the feeling this man gives off to a T."
	The slide changed again, this time to a scene of carnage.  A large fire
raged,and firefighters were trying to cope.  A large section of fence was
simply gone, and several people were being carried away on stretchers, some
completely covered.  "One month after '13' entered the prison," the standing
man said, "two bombs containing plastic explosive were hurled at the prison.
It was not known whether 13 was alive or dead.  However...
	"Next!"
	Another scene of carnage, though on a much smaller scale--but no less
impersonal than the one just previous.  A car sat at a dead stop on a
cobblestoned street, both of its occupants, one in the front, the other in
back, unequivocably dead.  The one in front, by his appearance, was some sort
of police officer, and the irregular speading stain across the lower left part
of his back as he lay across the steering wheel told the story of his demise.
The man in back, who bled no less profusely from the hole in the center of his
forehead, lay slumped half in and half out of the partially open left rear
door, his hat lying a few feet away in the street where it had fallen.
	"The dead man is the deputy chief of the GDR's national security
bureau.  The driver is one of the leaders of the People's Police.  The two of
them, known as the 'Devils of the Berlin Wall', were shrewd men, and we don't
know how many political refugees they may have killed.  This photo comes to us
by way of our dear friends in the KGB, who sent it to us without interference. 
They, in joint suit with the East German government, are bringing the incident
before the UN Security Council,  and are enraged over it.  This incident also
seems to have come as a great surprise to the CIA as well.  They seem to be
suitably alarmed and confused.
	"We have investigated fully.  The results are that this was not a
project mounted by the West, nor of course, however, was it done by the Eastern
Bloc.  It seems that in this instance too a .22 Armalite M-16 was employed.
	"That's right.  This too is the work of '13', even though there isn't a
single scrap of evidence, now, is there.  For his target, he first went to West
Germany.  Assuming that the prison business was some sort of mistake, he
infiltrated East Germany after that.  We can say that this was all planned out
in advance.  And the parties who hired him are the ones who set off the plastic
explosives.  This project was executed to rescue him.  We can think of
organizations large enough for this, I imagine.  This much, while
unsatisfatory, is all we know.  But we of the Circus feel that the need is more
than sufficient for us to express our appreciation to our allies at the CIA
Data Center, who wrestled with Golgo 13 for six months."
	The speaker stopped, and so did the slide show.  For several seconds
there was no light save that of the cigarette being smoked by the speaker.
	Then the heavy curtains were drawn back, and the seven men who were
seated turned their chairs toward the desk of the speaker, who stood to one
side as an assistant unplugged and removed the slide projector from his desk,
and another assistant finished tying off the curtains.  Some of the seated men
were rubbing their eyes as the remaining sunlight poured in through the sole
window.
	When the projector was removed from his desk, the speaker put out his
cigarette in the ashtray there, and sat down behind it, elbows on desktop,
chin resting on clasped hands, head bowed in apparent contemplation.
	After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at the eight men, now
standing, assembled in front of him.  He then picked up a large book lying
before him on the desk, and spoke again.  "Now, there will be one man arriving
at Liverpool tomorrow on a passenger ship from Portugal.  We will pay this man
15,000 pounds for the Bernhardt Operation."
	He paused to judge the effect of these words on his men.  Their
collectively dropped jaws spoke volumes.  He got up and continued.  "He has
been introduced by a close friend of mine in Portugal and I am told that he is
highly superior.  Because my friend, who received the Distinguished Service
Cross in the Second World War, is giving his stamp of approval, one can guess
at this man's competence.   I've also talked to Station Lisbon and had them
investigate this man.  But, ultimately, all that happened was that a top agent
was crippled, without finding out the slightest thing.  This is indeed a
superior man, and make no mistake.  This man is the expert with the Armalite
Explorer."
	The eight men he addressed, now seated, all exchanged glances and
mutterings of surprise at this statement.  "This is a decision made in haste,"
the speaker continued.  "And so I have had you gentlemen look at the pictures
of Golgo 13.  If this man is '13', the probablity of the Bernhardt Operation
succeeding will become extremely high.
	"Unlike times of war," he went on, "the days of the Circus killing and
infiltrating are long past.  But, to hear the way novels and movies depict it,
we're as busy as always, aren't we."
	He turned and walked behind his desk again.  "These are my orders for
everyone!  Stretch a barrier around this man's environment.  Don't overlook
anything.  And if by chance he is Golgo 13...apprehend him when you finish the
operation.  Up to now, this has all been an international matter.  What follows
from now on is likewise the same, of course.  However...I am not the only one
to think that it will be unbearable for this man to disrupt the world's
diplomatic policy.  The Americans as well as the Soviets are in complete
agreement on this point."
	At this point, he at last sat down. He slammed shut the book that lay
open on his desk, and said one last thing to those assembled.
	"All right...dismissed!"

Next: Chapter 2: The Circus, British Intelligence (Great Britain Circus/Eikoku
Joohoobu)

				GOLGO 13 Vol. 1, No. 1
				Operation Big Safe
				(Biggu Seifu Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
			Published by Lead Publishing Co.
				Part 3 of 6
			Chapter 2: The Circus, British Intelligence
			(Great Britain Circus/Eikoku Joohoobu)

			This Adaptation by Michael House, 1989

	The port of Liverpool was enshrouded in the proverbial pea-soup fog the
next day.  It was thick enough that only the merest outline of a passenger
liner could be made out as it made its final approach to the dock, and that
it was fully visible only when it had docked.
	Inside the terminal building, a number of people waited.  There were
two couples waiting in line at the window marked "Mexico."  Two men sat on a
bench, one reading a newspaper.  At the ticket counter, one man pointed out a
pair of attractive women to his friend.  Further down, a group of three other
men watched the passengers getting off the arriving ship.  One of them, wearing
a black bowler, glasses, and a trenchcoat, said to his companions, "The
identifying mark was a white handkerchief and gloves between the shoulders of
his coat, right?"
	"Uh-huh," one of the other men, in a fedora and trenchcoat, replied.
	They watched the rest of the passengers come in, then the man with the
bowler said, "He's not here."  His two companions looked on in silence.
	Outside, the passengers all went their separate ways.  Another man,
this time in a black fedora and trenchcoat, stood next to a black four-door
sedan and watched them, when he saw something approach from behind the car, out
of the corner of his eye.  He turned, keeping his hand in the pocket of his
trenchcoat.
	About two meters away, on the other side of the car, stood a young boy
carrying a small bag of fishing equipment in his right hand, with a fishing rod
slung over his left shoulder.
	The man winked and said, "What's this?  Some kid?" and watched the boy
run off, back the way he'd apparently come.  Then he turned back to watch the
terminal entrance, and the passengers leaving same, once again.
	The boy continued running down along the dock, stopping only when he
met with another man in a trenchcoat.  This time, however, the boy acted quite
differently.  Instead of turning and running away, he said, "I set it," and,
taking his fishing rod in his right hand, held out his left.  The man dropped
some coins into the boy's outstretched hand from his own gloved one, and the
boy took off again in the direction he'd been headed when he first ran into
the man.
	Golgo 13 lit a cigarette as the boy took off.  Then he looked back up
the dock, back the way the boy had come, and exhaled the smoke from his
nostrils.

			*		*		*

	The black car rolled through the fog-bound countryside, finally
driving up to an isolated three-story manor house.  Instead of stopping
outside, however, it drove down a hidden parking ramp at the side of the
house, which led to an underground parking area---and to the current base of
operations of the leader of the Circus, a man who was not the least bit happy
with the report his operatives made to him.
	"What?!  He didn't show up?  That---that's ridiculous."
	The agents looked at each other, and one, the third member of the
team which had waited in vain inside the terminal building, who had light-
colored hair, no hat, and a trenchcoat, said, "But---but, that's apparently
how he is."
	"Yeah," his companion, the man who had watched the outside of the
terminal building from his car, affirmed.
	"But, what does this mean?" the chief went on.  "We received word from
the departure point that he would definitely be on that passenger liner!"
	Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and started pacing
the floor, as his men looked on, unmoving.
	Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice broke the silence.  "You're the one who
hired me, aren't you?" it said.
	As one, all three men in the room turned back toward the door, where
the mysterious voice had originated.  A man stood silhouetted in the doorway,
his features indistinguishable, except for the briefcase he held in his left
hand, and the fact that his right hand was in the pocket of the trenchcoat
he was wearing.  Beyond the doorway, the stairs leading up from the room were
visible.
	At once, the two agents drew their guns and ran in front of their
leader, who said, "Hold it!" as the man walked down the two short steps into
the room itself.  The man's features became recognizable as he stepped into the
light of the single overhead lamp in the room, and the leader knew him for who
he was at once.  "Golgo 13..." he said, half-disbelievingly.
	Golgo 13 continued to look straight at him.  "Well, Great Britain's
Circus is good indeed.  I'm surprised that you know my nom de guerre."
	The two agents put their guns back in their coats without a word.
Golgo 13 took out a cigarette and lit it.  The leader said to him, "You found
this place without a guide, did you?"
	"Just as you investigated me, so I briefly had doubts about my
employer.  There are lots of traps, and I also don't want any bad feelings
after a job, you see.
	"Therefore, I had my guide's car point the way for me, without my
having to follow it directly."
	"But, that's ridiculous," the driver of the other car interjected.  "I
didn't screw up and let us be tailed."
	"You people know that it's simple to follow a car without seeing it, if
you use the right methods," Golgo 13 replied.
	The other agent caught on at once.  "A radio transmitter."
	But the driver was determined.  "That's ridiculous!  I was standing by
the car the whole time.  I ought to have known at once if you had gotten near
it."
	"It all happens without my coming in contact," Golgo 13 replied.
	"What?" the driver exclaimed.
	"And---and then the passenger liner..." his companion said, as
copmprehension dawned on him.
	Golgo 13 picked up his train of thought.  "That's right.  I wasn't on
it.  I most definitely did not debark at that port.  Instead, I came ashore at
Land's End, a step ahead."
	Both agents listened with mouths agape.  Then the driver said, "But---
but how did you plant the transmitter, when no one got near the car...?"
	"Never mind," the chief interrupted.  "In any case, he is here, in
front of us.  He got here by tailing your car."
	The agents glowered at Golgo in silence.  "Anyway, Mister 13," the
chief went on, "before you came into this cellar, you must have been stopped by
my men."
	"Um-hmm," replied Golgo, "they're good.  I got in, but it was
difficult.  The men outside are taking a short nap."  The chief merely looked
at him from under the brim of his bowler at this last.  "Shall we talk about
the job?" Golgo finished.
	"Uh-huh," said the chief.  "Please sit down, and let's talk."  Golgo
walked over to one of two chairs sitting in the middle of the floor.  The two
agents moved behind him as he eased himself into the seat.
	When Golgo 13 was halfway seated, a number of things suddenly happened
seemingly all at once again.  First, he jumped up, dropping the cigarette from
his lips.  Then he struck out with his gloved right fist, smashing it into the
face of the sandy-haired man with no hat.  As he went down, Golgo kicked the
other man in the side of the head with his left hat, knocking his hat off and
sending him to the floor as well.  "What---what's going on here?" the chief
shouted.
	Both men reached for their guns, with an exclamation of "Shit!" from
the sandy-haired agent.  But by the time they had cleared their jackets, a
snubnosed .38 revolver had moved, as of by magic, from the inside of Golgo's
trenchcoat to his right hand, where he kept it trained on both of them.
	Both men stopped short.  Tension hung heavy in the room--heavier than
it had up to that point.  Then Golgo 13 put his left hand on the back of the
chair, and spoke again.  "Don't stand behind me without making any noise," he
said.  "I simply don't like being stood behind, you see."
	At this point, the chief walked over between them and gestured to his
men, while looking at Golgo.  The agents put their guns away again, looking
daggers at Golgo.
	"Please forgive us," the chief began.  "My men meant no ill will in
standing behind you.  It's habit, you see.
	"However," he continued, "as a result of this, I understand your
actions at the display windows in Hamburg.  It would seem to be your habit to
strike reflexively at those who are standing behind you quietly, wouldn't it."
It was a statement, not a question, and Golgo 13 simply stared at the chief
through eyes that, if anything, had narrowed even further than normal (which
was saying quite a bit), and did not reply for some seconds.  Then he said,
while returning his revolver to his jacket, "It seems your investigation of me
has been more thorough than I imagined."
	"What do you mean?" the chief replied.  "Not knowing your name is the
same as not knowing anything about you."
	The two agents finished putting their automatics away, and Golgo picked
up his briefcase and backpedaled until he reached the nearest wall, the one
containing the sole entrance and exit to the room.  The chief merely watched
bemusedly.
	When he had the wall at his back, Golgo put down his briefcase again,
folded his arms, and said, "All right.  Let's get back to discussing the job."
	The chief put one hand in the pocket of his trenchcoat and said, "It
won't be easy talking across this distance, but we'll manage."  He took a half-
turn as the driver put his hat back on, and continued.
	"I want you to eliminate one man for me," he began.  "His name is
Bernhardt Muller, and he was formerly the head of the Nazi SS.  We know that he
has changed his appearance through plastic surgery, has become an entirely
different person altogether, and is living in Zurich, Switzerland.  And yet the
two years we've spent searching for him have been wasted.  Being a war criminal
because of the Holocaust, he went into hiding at the end of the war, taking
some colossal pieces of gems and jewelry with him.  I imagine you know all
this."
	He picked up a sheaf of folded papers.  "He has money.  Accordingly,
he has ten professional bodyguards close by who keep the closest possible
watch.  His followers are a group made up of former members of the Nazis and
the Gestapo."
	At this point, the chief handed the papers to one of the agents and 
said, "Take this to him."  The agent walked over and handed the papers to
Golgo, who took them and began looking them over without a word.
	"Those are photographs and floor plans of Muller's residence.  We know,
as a result of having monitored him these past six months, that he never sets
foot outside of it.  The living room and the rooftop sundeck are both shielded
with bulletproof glass.  Sniping is effectively impossible.  Thus, we've hired
you.  I'll leave the scheming to you.
	"In addition, the Israeli Center for Hunting Nazi War Criminals is using
all the power at their disposal to find Muller.  It's a most impressive
operation to come out of nothing but a people's hatred.  There are indications
that they've pinpointed his newest residence.  For us, it's as dangerous as if
Muller were holding a bomb.  But, you understand, I can't explain the reason
why.
	"We want you to take the first plane tomorrow to Switzerland.  Here are
your passport and all of your papers.  A hotel in Zurich has been chosen for
you.  Your contact there is known as Woodpecker."
	Golgo 13 looked up for a moment from the photographs and floor plan
he had been examining, and met the chief's eyes wordlessly.  The chief must
have understood, for he said, "We'll pay you 8000 pounds in advance, the
balance on completion."
	Golgo closed the folded papers he'd been examining so hard that there
was an audible slamming sound.  He turned toward the door and, in a gesture that
could only be described as contemptuous, tossed them over his shoulder into the
hand of the agent who had delivered them to him initially.
	"Wait," the chief said.  Golgo 13 stopped and looked back at him out of
the corner of his eye, without turning around.  "Very well," he relented,
"we'll pay you the full amount in adavance."
	He turned to one of his men.  "The case," he said, as Golgo looked back
over his shoulder.
	The case was brought, and opened.  Golgo 13 looked inside at the neatly
bundled stacks of fresh, crisp British currency.  "I don't imagine," he said,
"that there'll be any need for a receipt."  The chief and his men merely looked
on in silence as he closed the briefcase, picked up the one with which he had
entered, and left.
	As soon as Golgo was gone, the chief went over to the table and picked
up the phone sitting there.  "Get me Zurich," he said.  "That's right!"
	There was a pause, and then he continued, apparently speaking to
someone else.  "Yes, it's me.  G is coming your way, just as planned.  That's
right, G.  When the operation is finished, burn everything.  And then...
eliminate him."
	Outside, the fog had turned to rain.

Next: Chapter 3: Woodpecker

				GOLGO 13
				Vol. 1 No. 1
			    Operation Big Safe
			    (Biggu Seifu Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
				Published by Lead Publishing Co.
				Part 4 of 6

			This Adaptation by Michael House, 1989

	Chapter 3: Woodpecker

	The jumbo jet touched down uneventfully at Zurich Airport.  Golgo 13
got into a taxi waiting outside the terminal building not long afterward.
	"Where to?" said the driver, a rotund gentleman with rosy red cheeks,
a bulbous, equally rosy nose, and about three chins, all on a head that
appeared to be sitting directly on his shoulders.
	"The Lakeside Hotel in Upper Ceiel," Golgo replied, shutting the door
of the cab.
	"Yes, sir," the driver said.  "That's a nice place, it is.  The Zurich
lakeshore is the best place when you want to be a little bit alone."
	"Golgo 13 lit a cigarette and said nothing, as the taxi, a black four-
door sedan, hurtled toward its passenger's intended destination.
	The Lakeside Hotel was situated in a beautiful setting, located, as its
name suggests, on the shore of an Alpine lake, with the Swiss Alps themselves
visible all around.  But Golgo 13 had showed little interest in the
surroundings he found himself in---except as to how they might affect his job.
He got out of the taxi and walked into the hotel lobby, past the classical
Madonna-like statue in the entranceway.
	"There are four packages that have arrived for you, sir," the front
desk clerk said after Golgo had checked in.  "Would you like them to be taken
up to your room?"
	"Yes, do that, please," Golgo replied.  "They're samples for sale."
	A bellboy took his briefcase, and they walked over to the elevator
together.  As they waited, a man sat and played solitaire at one of the tables
in the lobby, with a drink sitting nearby, half-empty.  His face seemed
reminiscent of a mole's:  beady, wide-set eyes with a nose between them that,
if it did not exist already, the word "snout" would have had to have been
invented for.  He had short dark hair and a beard, which were all plastered
onto his head, but no moustache, and rather large ears.
	The man looked up for a moment, then dropped the cards he was still
holding in his hand, scowled, and got up from the table.  Golgo 13 and the
bellboy entered the elevator and went up to his room.  Another bellboy came
shortly thereafter with a handtruck carrying the parcels Golgo was expecting.
When he had unloaded them, the bellboy asked, "Would you like lunch, sir?"
	"Bring it to my room," Golgo replied as he removed his trenchcoat.
"I'll have neither wine nor beer."
	"Yes, sir," said the bellboy.
	He handed the bellboy a bill, with his thanks, and watched the bellboy
exit the room.  Then he walked over and locked the door, and began looking
all over the room.  He picked up the phone and the mat it sat on.  He looked
behind the picture on the wall.  He looked behind the curtains to the window.
He examined the bathroom mirror.  Finally, satisfied that he had found nothing,
he drew another cigarette and examined the packages lying on the floor in front
of him.
	Each of the packages was stamped "Inspected," to indicate that it had
gome through Customs.  "Inspected?" Golgo thought aloud as he drew another
cigarette.  It was ironic to think that a Customs investigator might have
divined what was really in these packages.  Golgo 13 took the potted plant off
of the small table, picked up one of the packages, and sat down.
	When opened, the first package was found to contain what was labeled as
a "Sample Jewelbox---Made in Mexico," which is indeed what it looked like.
However, Golgo opened it in what might have seemed a most unusual manner:
instead of lifting the lid, he started pulling at the sides, in a very specific
fashion, which caused the entire box to fall apart.  The "lid" started to
separate into two parts as well, along a very definite diagonal.  Ignoring the
other pieces of the "box," Golgo picked up the two pieces of the "lid" and put
them back together again, though not in any shape remotely resembling what they
had looked like previously.  When he finished, their true form and function---
that of a rifle stock---was as obvious as it had been inobvious just a few
moments ago---when they had been a box lid.  He set it down and picked up 
another package.
	This one was labeled "New Type Screw Manufacturing Machinery."  It
actually contained the pieces of the action to Golgo 13's modified M-16.  He
assembled it, attached it to the stock, and picked up the third package, which
was labeled "Sample of Prototype Steel Door Chime."  It yielded up the barrel
assembly, which Golgo screwed directly in place.
	Then he paused, before opening the last box, to check the sighting,
assembly, and action of his now fully-assembled weapon, and found them to be
satisfactory.  Then he put the gun down on the table and turned his attention
to the last box.
	According to its label, this one contained "Sample Safe Insulators."
An examination of its contents revealed that there were, indeed, insulators
inside: several orderly rows of them.  Golgo picked up two of them, and struck
their bases against each other.  They shattered, and revealed their true
contents: bullets.  One in each insulator casing.  He picked one up, put it in
the magazine, attached the targeting scope, and walked over to the window.
	Golgo put the gun to his shoulder and sighted across the lake through
the sniperscope.  Directly opposite, across the lake, he saw a handful of
dwellings scattered from the lakeshore to about halfway up the mountainside.
Panning to his left, an old five-story stone mansion came into view.  It had
a sloping roof with four chimneys, one at each of the corners, and these were
paralleled by the four much larger towers at the corners of the manor itself,
extending from roof level down to the ground.
	Golgo looked closer, and found a large and very modern piece of
artillery mounted on one of the upper-story balconies, partially hidden by
surrounding flowers and ivy, as well as its own shield.  "Looks like a 2-inch
machine-gun emplacement in with the flowers," he said to himself.  "It seems
they still think they're at war.
	"But," he continued, lowering the gun away from his face, "this castle
will be a slight trap."
	Suddenly Golgo detected movement in the grounds directly beneath his
open window.  He looked down and saw the man with the bulbous nose and
mole-like face from the hotel lobby, looking back up at him, standing by some
bushes.  After a moment, mole-face turned and walked away.  Golgo watched him
go, a look of concern etched on his face.  His reverie was interrupted by a
knock at the door of his suite.  "Just a minute," he called.
	Quickly, he disassembled his gun into stock, action, barrel and scope,
and put them into a satchel.  Then he opened the door, and a maid came in,
wheeling a cart with a single tureen on it ahead of her.  "I've brought your
lunch, sir," she said.
	When she had brought the cart all the way into the room, Golgo shut
the door and walked over to where she stood.  She lifted the lid off the tureen
and said, "Today's lunch is chicken.  Will that be all right, sir?"
	Golgo 13 watched in detachment, then his eyes widened and he gave a
grunt of surprise.  The tureen was empty.  He looked up at her again, noticing
for the first time the trim, fit body under the uniform, the dark hair framing
a pleasant face, and the large, intelligent eyes.  He came to a quick
conclusion:  "Ah.  You must be Woodpecker," he said.
	"That's right," the "maid" replied with a slight smile on her face.
"I've been assigned to assist you."
	Golgo leaned over and grabbed his trenchcoat.  "Wait here a moment,"
he said.
	"Wha--?" was all the reply Woodpecker had time to get out before
Golgo left the room.  She gazed after him, wonderingly.

		*		*		*

	A few hundred yards away, mole-face was walking away through the
wooded grounds back of the hotel.  He seemed to be lost in thought, for the
sight of Golgo 13 standing before him, partially concealed by a particularly
large tree, brought him completely up short.  After a moment or two, Golgo
approached him.
	"You--you want something with me?" he stammered.
	Golgo stopped and raised his eyes slightly, because mole-face was
just a hair taller.  "You were going to make some sort of report about me to
Muller, weren't you?"
	"Huh?  What are you ta--talking about?" mole-face said, trying to
feign ignorance.
	Golgo had no patience with that.  "Don't play innocent.  How do you
explain away the significance of the wet spots in your underarms?"
	Suddenly the whole perspective changed, and it was mole-face who
glared up into Golgo's eyes, as Golgo 13 returned the other man's stare,
through eyes that were slivers of ice.  For a moment, everything froze--
except the sweat beading out all over mole-face's body.  Then he dove to his
right, drawing his automatic.
	He pulled the trigger.
	There was a sound of two gunshots being fired.
	Almost instantaneously, a bloody flower blossomed in the center of
mole-face's forehead, and he toppled backwards, sending showers of gore
everywhere, with an expression of momentary surprise on his face.  Golgo 13
watched him fall, his left hand holding open the left side of his coat, and
his right hand holding his still-smoking .38 revolver.  "To think that they
would stand a watch for foreign visitors at even a hotel like this...this is
starting to turn into a slightly annoying job," he said as he put the pistol
back in its concealed holster.  He then turned to kick the body down the
short slope they had been standing on, and walked back through double rows
of trees all bare of leaves.
	Behind him the lake looked striking in the rays of the afternoon sun.

		*			*			*

	Back in the hotel room, Woodpecker could hardly believe her ears.
"What!  Tonight?" she exclaimed, the look on her face matching the incredulity
in her voice.
	"Uh-huh," he grunted, his seeming impassivity the polar opposite of her
astonishment.  "The situation has taken a turn for the worse.  I have to finish
the job, and quickly."
	"But, but, it's not as easy as that to get into Muller's mansion--"
Woodpecker started to say, when Golgo cut her off.
	"There's no time to waste!  I'll think of something."  He walked over to
the still-open window.  She stayed where she was in the middle of the room.
After a few moments of silence, she went out and came back with two large
objects: one that very strongly resembled a submachinegun, the other looking
like a pair of spheres, of different sizes, stuck together.  She placed them on
the coffee table.
	"All right," she said.  "But before you do, listen to this message from
the controlling officer."
	Golgo turned halfway to look at her.  "Oh...I have to listen because
it's my employer talking, is that it?"
	Woodpecker went on ahead, seemingly ignoring Golgo's last remark.
"When you take care of Muller," she said, "we want you to go into the room that
contains his big safe, burn off the timelock with this laser gun, and blow up
the inside of it.  The safe cannot be blown up from without.  The timelock is
set to open the safe once every forty-eight hours, and I'm told that the safe
absolutely will not open until that time.  Absolutely not.  We're certain of
this because we bought off and questioned the men who built the safe.
	"Muller takes all his men and inspects the inside of the safe once
every two days; that is, when it comes time for the timelock to open.  He lets 
his men see his own grandiose fortune, and keeps up his dignity, it would
seem."
	She gestured to the objects on the coffee table.  "Here is the safe's
timetable and a bomb," she said.
	"I'm not going to blow up the safe," he said as soon as she'd finished.
"I was contracted for killing.  Deal with the counterfeit pounds yourselves."
	This last stunned Woodpecker into speechlessness for several seconds.
Finally, she croaked, "How...how did you..."
	"It isn't such an extravagant flight of fancy to see the Circus up in 
arms over Muller, and connect the rumors into the facts," Golgo replied with
more than a touch of smugness.
	He moved to sit down at the table, and opened the folder lying there.
After several moments, Woodpecker folded her arms and said, "So you knew..."
Golgo 13 puffed away at his cigarette and did not respond.  "We were told that,
right before the war, Germany had made up huge quantities of counterfeit
English currency, at the Oranienberg concentration camp, in denominations
ranging from five to fifty pounds, but all the Jews who worked the printing
operations were killed, and we simply didn't know either who was responsible
for that, nor the whereabouts of the counterfeit bills themselves."
	She paused, then asked, in rhetorical fashion, "What you're saying is
that Muller's the culprit, aren't you."  Beads of sweat ran down her face.
Golgo didn't so much as look up from the papers he was reading.  "The
counterfeit currency, which is estimated, according to the writings, to be more
than about 50,000,000 pounds, could ruin faith in the pound by causing a
tremendous drop in its value, and throw the economy into utter and complete
chaos.  It's an awfully delicate situation, but you don't seem to be able to
distinguish that, even though you're such a professional."
	At this point, Golgo 13 at last looked up from the folder before him
on the table.  "The vault...?" he mused aloud.
	He gestured at the folder with his cigarette.  "This floorplan is
accrurate, right?" he said.
	"Huh?" Woodpecker said, slightly confused.  "Yeah...definitely..." she
finished, slightly more coherently.
	Upon hearing this, Golgo said, simply, to himself as much as to her,
"All right, that's how I'll do it."
	Woodpecker's eyes lit up and she smiled tentatively.  "Then you
understand.  You'll go into the safe--"
	Golgo cut her off.  "I thought I said no!"
	Once again sweat started beading on her face.  Golgo put his cigarette
back in his mouth and said, "Instead, Miss Beautiful Assistant, you're going to
charter a Cessna for me, right away."  She simply looked at him.

Next: Chapter 4: The Big Safe's Timeout (Daikinkoo no Timeout)

			GOLGO 13 Vol. 1, No. 1
			Operation Big Safe
			(Big Safe Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
			Part 5 of 6
		This adaptation by Michael House, Dec. 1989

Chapter 4: The Big Safe's Timeout (Daikinkoo no Timeout)

	Muller's residence stood magnificently alone in the middle of a large,
well-groomed, and fenced-off piece of land.  There were plenty of pine trees
just beyond the fence, but no more than one or two anywhere near the
ivy-covered manor.
	The layout of the Muller estate became clearer still from the cockpit
of the single-engine Cessna monoplane that flew toward it.  From the pilot's
side, it became apparent that the fence met the turrets at the very front of
the house, and that the house itself stood on a small peninsula, one which,
beyond the fence, was completely bare of foliage.  There was also a wide,
cleared road between the trees on the other side of the fence, which led
directly to the front entrance of the house.
	In truth, Muller's estate also included much of the ground that lay
before the house, as well as the whole of the peninsula behind it.  The fence
extended away from the front of the house, and the two arms of the fence met
again quite aways from the house, in a large gate set between Greek pillars.
The fence itself was of wrought iron.
	The pilot of the Cessna approaching the manor, however, would not
likely have had more than a passing interest in the architecture of the Muller
estate, except perhaps with regard to how to get in and out of it.  Golgo 13
looked at it casually, out of the corner of eye, and then dove down at it,
seemingly all of a sudden.  When he got close enough, he opened the window on
his side of the plane, and in a casual, almost contemputous fashion, tossed
out a small spherical object.
	The object struk the roof of the estate, and exploded with a great
roaring sound and a large cloud of black smoke.  By this time, Golgo 13 was
already pulling up and banking away from the mansion, as Muller's men moved
quickly themselves to take care of the situation.
	Three men ran up to the AA gun that stood on one of the turrets,
but the plane was already clearly out of range before they could even begin
to draw a bead on it.  The smoke, meanwhile, cleared quickly enough to reveal
that the bomb had blown a hole in the roof easily large enough for two
full-grown men to lie down in it.  Two more men were already on the scene
there, right above the AA gun.
	"Shit!" the man at the gun shouted.  "Put out the fire!  Quick!" his
two companions cried out as they ran for the roof.
	At the same time, another man was speaking into a walkie-talkie as
sweat ran down his face.  "Yes, Herr Muller," he said.  "No, the damage doesn't
appear to be serious.  Ja, do you think it could be those damn Israelis?"

			*		*		*

	Some time later that day, another incident took place near the Muller
estate.  Two men met each other on a foot path leading up to it through the
woods.  One man left the other man stripped down to his undershirt and shorts,
bound securely to the trunk of the tree he was slumped against.  His hands were
bound behind his back, his ankles were tied together, and he was gagged with a
handkerchief.  He was sweating profusely and his eyes were bulging in terror as
he looked at his attacker.
	Golgo 13 had just finished putting on the other man's clothes: a
long-sleeved shirt, coveralls, cap, and glasses.  He climbed onto the other
man's saddlebag-laden bicycle and pedaled the rest of the way to the Muller
estate, where a man in an immaculately-pressed suit met him at the gate, and
let him in.
	The two men who had earlier tried to fire the antiaircraft gun at
Golgo's Cessna watched him from that selfsame antiaircraft-gun emplacement, on
the balcony, as he  set himself up on the roof and begin working on the hole he
himself had made, without ever knowing that it was him, of course.  "The nerve
of those damn Israelis, making such an obnoxious bluff..." said the one with
dark hair.
	"You know it," his lighter-haired companion replied.  "Still, it won't
make any difference, in any case.  Because, as you know, this mansion has been
built up from a run-down fortress into a strong, solid one.  Ha, ha, ha..."
	Golgo looked over his shoulder from the hole in the roof in which he
sat, and heard every word the two men said.  Then he turned back to examine the
hole he had just burned, in the ceiling directly below the sloping roof.  He
put down the laser, and reached for the rope and plunger he had also brought
with him.
	The plunger was on a telescoping arm, and this enabled him to extend
it, and the rope attached to it, the two or so feet down to the first actual
ceiling of the rooms in the mansion.  When he had it sufficiently secured to
the rock, he looped the rope twice around his waist, and once over his right
shoulder.  Securing the rope, he reached once again for the laser, and began to
cut the concrete around the plunger, in a circle just large enough for a man of
his dimensions to slip through.  He blinked as his eyes begin to tear in
response to the smoke rising up, and peeked over his shoulder to make sure that
no one was watching him at work.
	When he had finished, he braced himself, and put the laser down.  Then
he grabbed hold of the rope with both hands, and pulled up the plug he had cut
out of the underlying ceiling.  His efforts were rewarded by the sight of large
stacks of currency, in neat bundles, piled almost up to the ceiling he had just
opened.
	Having accomplished what he had really come there to do, Golgo 13 set
about tearing up the damaged planking on the roof, and replacing it with fresh
ones, all the while under the "watchful eyes" of the two men who were there to
keep an eye on him as he worked.

		*			*			*

	On his way out the gate, after having finished work for the day,
Golgo 13 turned to the man at the gate and said, "The concrete will finish 
drying the day after tomorrow.  But you'll be safe from the rain, because the
work is all but finished."
	The guard's only response was a curt, "Well, thanks a lot!" as he let
Golgo out.  Golgo walked the bicycle through the gate, took his hat off, and
bid the other man good day.  Then he put his hat back on, mounted the bicycle,
and drove off, his thoughts already on what he would do that evening.

		*			*			*

	The Muller residence looked magnificent that night, the lights in its
windows reflected in the lake, the trees and hills surrounding it, as Golgo 13
crouched by the rear fence, watching the guard at that post walk up and down,
a rifle slung over his shoulder.  Golgo wore a black bodystocking and shoes,
and carried a square knapsack on his back.
	When the guard had walked sufficiently away from him, Golgo 13 jumped
up and began to scale the ivy-covered turret he stood next to.  In short order,
he came up to one of the windows, and paused.  This was easy, because the
windows were set back about a foot into the walls of the mansion, and also had
ledges roughly a foot to a foot and a half extending out from the wall.  Golgo
edged up to the window and looked and listened as he crossed it.
	Inside were a man and a woman on a bed, partially covered by
bedclothes.  She lay on his left side, partially on top of him, her arms around
him.  He had one arm around her, and was putting a cigarette into an ashtray
with his other hand.  Then they settled back, and she began absently stroking
his face with her left hand, which had a ring on its middle finger.
	"You'll be reprimanded by Herr Muller for dallying in a place like
this," she said.
	"Ha!" he replied, smirking.  "Herr Muller absolutely never goes near
rooms with or near windows."
	"You mean even though they all have bulletproof glass?" she asked, half
disbelievingly.
	"A place with bulletproof glass?  He wouldn't trust it even if it were
made of steel," he replied.  "But it's all right, so don't let such things
distract you," he went on as he rolled over on top of her and started kissing
her throat.
	She began to laugh as Golgo crossed to the other side of the window.
With a last look, he began the next part of his climb to the roof.
	There was a guard stationed on the balcony, a rifle slung over his
shoulder.  Golgo watched him toss a cigarette butt over the railing, and then
walk over to the far side of the balcony from him.  Then he climbed over the
railing, moved over to the turret at the point where it met the balcony, and
worked his way up its side to the roof.
	He felt around for a few moments, then found the planks he had replaced
there that afternoon, and quietly lifted them away, uncovering the hole he had
put the planks there to cover.

		*			*			*

	The clock in the anteroom leading to the vault read 10:30 at the moment
that Golgo 13 reached the roof.  Time passed from then on in silence--10:35,
10:59, 11:14--then at 11:50 the anteroom door was opened, and in strode
Berhardt Muller, followed by six of his closest men.  They fanned out into two
rows behind him, and he himself stopped next to the clock.  He looked at his
watch, then at the glass-covered face of the clock, and the three unmarked
knobs beneath it.  "Just 30 more seconds," he said.
	Then he turned to face his men.  Gesturing to the large, square, metal
vault door, with its large hinges, dials, and the large four-spoked wheel in
the center, he spoke to them.  "Well, the time has come for us to confirm our
fortune this day," he declared.  "Very soon now, Israel's Center for
Investigation of Nazi War Criminals will be dismantled.  At that time, the time
of glory will call, when we will throw open and divide this!  Today, let us
open the vault, and pray for our day of safety to come as soon as possible!"
	This said, Muller turned to the clock again, and watched as the second
hand struck twelve straight up.  "It is time!" he said proudly as the vault
door opened.
	The door did not open in the fashion that the configuration of dials
and locking bars might have suggested.  The bars themselves separated at the
center of the door, and the door itself separated along its center line, the
two halves sliding on tracks back into the wall, apart from each other.  As
they did so, they revealed another vault door behind them.  This one was
circular, with two large hinges on one side, a large three-spoked wheel in the
center, and two smaller dials beneath it.
	Muller grasped the center wheel and gave it a couple of turns.  Then he
stepped back and let one of his men turn it until it swung open.  Muller and
his men stood in the doorway, preparing to enter the vault--and they continued
simply to stand there, completely unprepared for what they found therein.
	For there, sitting almost casually atop a pile of currency, was Golgo
13, wearing his black bodysuit, and holding his modified M-16 at chest level.
Before Muller or his men could do anything, Golgo pulled the trigger.  There
was a bright muzzle flash, and a hold appeared in almost the exact center of
Muller's forehead.  He simply stood there, the already-present expression of
shock on his forehead now frozen there.
	Muller's men then began running for cover, fearing that they themselves
would be next to get shot.  After a seeming eternity, Muller's body fell over
backwards, a large bloodstain spattering the floor underneath his head.
	As soon as Muller's body had fallen out of the way of the vault door,
Golgo dashed up to it and slammed it shut from his side.  Muller's men tried
to stop him, but were too late.  "Damn it!" one of them shouted.  "He's closed
it!"
	"No, now he's a rat in a trap!" another one said.
	"A complete idiot," affirmed another.
	None of them realized it, but Golgo 13 was at that very moment proving
them all wrong, as he climbed back up through the hole in the ceiling of the
vault through which he'd originally entered, and emerged once again onto the
roof of the mansion.
	The loss of their leader was quickly confirmed.  "He--he died
instantly," one of them said, kneeling at Muller's side, while the others
looked on in confusion.  "There's nothing we can do."
	Then another one, who was kneeling across from the one who had just
officially pronounced Muller dead, asked the question that all of them had been
too shocked and surprised even to think of, up to that point: "But--but how the
hell did he get into the vault?"
	All of them looked at each other, their confusion and fear revived all
over again.
	Outside, the mansion and its surroundings looked as they had before--
giving no sign that anything unusual had happened that night.  The lights from
the manor windows were reflected in the lake, as they had been all night.

Next: Chapter 5: In Parting With Woodpecker

				GOLGO 13
				Vol. 1, No. 1
				Operation Big Safe
				(Big Safe Sakusen)
		Copyright Nov. 1968 by Saitoo Takaoo and Saitoo Productions
			This Adaptation by Michael House, Jan. 1990
				Part 6 of 6

Chapter 5: Farewell to Woodpecker (Kitsutsuki ni Wakare o)

	Golgo 13 returned to his hotel, dressed now in a trenchcoat, wearing
a suit and tie underneath it.  The heels of his shoes struck the the tiled
floor of the entryway most audibly indeed.
	There were four men standing at the front desk, talking to the desk
clerk.  All of them, barring small individual differences, were dressed
identically: trenchcoats with matching-colored suits underneath them.  Golgo
walked right past the desk, not even acknowledging the clerk's "Welcome back,
sir!" greeting, nor the gazes of the other four men when they turned to watch
him stalk by.
	As Golgo moved away, toward the elevators, however, he looked back over
his shoulder at the desk.  The four men had by then turned back to face the
desk clerk again.

		*			*			*

	The door of Golgo's room opened a crack in response to his knock.
Woodpecker, upon seeing that it was him, opened it the rest of the way.
"There were four men downstairs just now," she said closing the door behind
him.  "They're Israelis," she finished as he strode into the room and shrugged
out of his trenchcoat.
	"Anyway..." she hesitated, "...did you do it?"
	Golgo went over to the table and drew a cigarrette.  "Uh-huh, I did
it," he said, reaching for his lighter.  "On the contrary," he continued,
lighting up, "it would be unthinkable to kill Muller again if he survived, now,
wouldn't it."
	"I see," Woodpecker replied.  "Thank you very much!"
	Golgo 13 turned at the change in the sound of her voice.  He noticed
that she was now holding a Walther PPK in her hand, pointing it directly at
him.  "What is the meaning of this?" he said.
	"Orders," she replied.  "I am to eliminate you."
	"Oh, are you telling me that England has gotten stingy with its money?"
he asked in return, letting his right hand, holding his cigarette, move down
away from his mouth.
	Woodpecker did not move.  "This is to protect national secrets," she
replied.
	Golgo 13 continued on, unperturbed.  "But gunshots here will cause a
commotion throughout the hotel," he said.
	"You needn't worry about that.  This room is completely soundproofed,"
she explained.
	"Oh, I see," Golgo said simply, his eyes seemingly impossibly narrowing
again.  "Hearing that puts me at ease, too."
	With that, several things once again happened seemingly all at once.
First, Golgo 13 dropped to the floor.  Second, Woodpecker fired two shots from
her PPK.  Third, Golgo fired one shot from his revolver.
	For some two or three seconds afterward, the room was completely
silent.  The only movement was from the smoke that trailed from both their
guns.  Then, with an expression of horror on her face, Woodpecker dropped her
gun and collapsed to the floor, clutching her hands over the hole in her chest,
up to then invisible because of the dark fabric of her maid's uniform.
	Golgo 13 stood up quickly, keeping his revolver trained on her.  "When
you're going to kill someone, pull the trigger in the time that you're
chattering uselessly with them," he said while returning his gun to its
shoulder holster.
	He then dropped a small radio transmitter, with a single button on it,
next to her face.  Woodpecker stirred, looking first at the object, then up at
Golgo.  Golgo met her gaze and said, "If you press that button, the inside of 
the vault will be most satisfactorily blown up."
	He then put on his trenchcoat and picked up his satchel.  As Woodpecker
picekd up the radio detonator and reached for the button with her remaining
strength, Golgo turned and headed for the door, saying, "Goodbye, Miss
Beautiful Assistant."

		*			*			*

	In the lobby, Golgo 13 plopped his satchel down on the coffee table
in front of the couch where he had just sat down.  As he lit another cigarette,
the manager came up to him and said, "The taxi will be here shortly, sir."
	Golgo grunted in response.  "I see."
	Just then, one of the bellboys came tearing through the front door of
the hotel.  "Sir!  Herr Muller's home on the far side of the lake is on fire!
It's terrible!"
	The manager turned in surprise.  "What?" was all he could manage.
Golgo put away his lighter and settled back to enjoy his cigarette, showing no
reaction to the growing excitement around him.
	After a moment, the manager recovered enough to follow his bellboy
outside.  Sure enough, there across the lake was the Muller mansion, completely
ablaze, with a huge column of smoke rising upwards from it.  "It--it's burning
in an incredible fashion," the manager said.  "It looks as though there was an
explosion."
	Shortly thereafter, a taxi drove up to the entrance of the hotel.  The
manager and one of the bellboys standing on either side of him turned to look,
then moved to meet Golgo as he came out of the hotel, satchel in hand,
cigarette in mouth.
	As he settled himself into the back of the cab, the manager thanked him
for staying with them and wished him a safe trip.  The taxi then drove off, and
Golgo looked out the window at the raging flames consuming the Muller estate,
in between puffs on his cigarette.

END