33. Judas the Spy http://flibusta.is/b/610599/read
Judas Spy
34. The Hood of Death http://flibusta.is/b/610990/read
Hood of Death
35. Amsterdam http://flibusta.is/b/681332/read
Amsterdam
36. The Temple of Fear http://flibusta.is/b/612612/read
Temple Of Fear
37. 14 seconds to hell http://flibusta.is/b/633698/read
14 Seconds to Hell
38. The defector http://flibusta.is/b/607232/read
The Defector
39. Carnival of Murders http://flibusta.is/b/633954/read
Carnival for Killing
40. Rhodesia http://flibusta.is/b/631088/read
Rhodesia
Carter Nick
Macau.
translated by Lev Shklovsky in memory of his lost son Anton.
Original title: Makao.
THE KILLING SEASON.
* Two members of a notorious London sex club found stabbed to death, ego, body hacked to bloody pieces... * Portugal's top agent shot dead in broad daylight on a street filled with passers-by-
* What a private investigator he is by Brooklyn is stabbed to death in a then-fold dollar intervention in international espionage...
All they had in common was Princess de Gama, Nick Carter's partner in ego's new assignment. A beautiful, lecherous woman who is engaged can save or destroy the world... depending on which side satisfies her lecherous desires more!
Chapter 1
LONDON WAS SWELTERING. It was the last Sunday in July, and the thermometer had been nearing eighty for several days. In the British roast, and quite for estestvenno, that the consumption of beer, mild and bitter, and nutty ale, is directly proportional to degrees Fahrenheit. Portobello Road. There was no air conditioning, and this dirty little public space was filled with the stench of beer and tobacco, cheap brass and human smoke. At any moment, the landlord, a fat man, would tap on it and sing the words that drunks and lonely people are so afraid of. "Opening hours are over, gentlemen, empty your glasses." In the back booth, out of earshot of the other patrons, six men were whispering to each other. Five of the men were Cockney, as was evident from their speech, dress, and manner. The sixth man, who kept talking, was a little harder to find. The Swedes ' ego was conservative and well-cut, his shirt was clean but with frayed cuffs, and he was wearing the tie of a famous regiment. The ego's name was Theodore Blacker - Ted or Teddy for the ego of friends, of whom he had very few left.
He was once a captain in the Royal Ulster Fusiliers. Up to dismissal for stealing regimental money and card fraud. Ted Blacker finished speaking and looked around at the five Cockneys. - Do you all understand what they want from you? Any questions?" If so, ask now - there won't be time later. Standing around the men, a short guy with a knife-like nose raised his empty glass. " Uh ... I don't have a corkscrew, Teddy. "How about we pay for the ale before that fat guy announces the closing time?" Blacker kept the disgust out of his voice and expression as he beckoned to the bartender. He needed these types for the next few hours. He needed them badly, it was the corkscrew of life and death-the ego of life-and there was no doubt that when you were dealing with pigs, you were bound to get some dirt on them. Ted Blacker sighed inwardly, smiled outwardly, paid for his drink, and lit a cigar to get rid of the smell of unwashed flesh. Just a few hours - a day or two at most-and then the case would be blocked and he would be a rich man. Emu will have to leave England, of course, but that doesn't matter. Before them was a large, wide, beautiful world. He always see the hotel South America. Alfie Doolittle, a Cockney leader by size and quick wit, wiped beer suds off his rta and stared over the top of his chair at Teda Blacker. Ego's eyes, small and sly in his large face, were fixed on Blacker. He said, " Now look, Teddy. There shouldn't be any murders? Maybe a beating, if necessary, but not murder... Ted Blacker made an exasperated gesture. He glanced at Zhirinovsky's expensive gold wristwatch. "I've explained it all," he said irritably. "If there are any problems , which I doubt very much, they won't be big. Allegedly, there will be no murders for sure. If anyone around my, uh, clients just "goes all out", all you men have to do is tame ih. Hers, I thought I'd made it clear. All you men have to do is make sure that nothing happens to me and that nothing is taken away from me. Especially the latter. In the evening I will show her some very valuable goods. There are certain parties that would like to have this cargo and not pay for it. Now, do you finally understand everything?"
Dealing with the lower classes, Blacker thought, might be too unpleasant! They weren't even smart enough to be good ordinary criminals. He glanced at his watch again and stood up. "I'll meet you in Rivne at two-thirty. My clients are coming in at three. I hope that you will come separately and not attract attention. You know all about the constable in the area and the ego schedule, so there shouldn't be any difficulties here. Now, Alfie, what's the address again?" "Number fourteen Muse Street." Near Morgate Road. In that building, on the fourth floor."
When he was gone, the little cockney with the pointed nose chuckled, " Thinks he's a real gentleman, doesn't he? But he's not an elf.
Another person said: "I think he's quite a gentleman for me. If anything, the ego fives are good." Alfie downed his empty mug. He gave everyone a shrewd look and chuckled. -"You wouldn't recognize a real gentleman, no one around you, if he came over and gave you a drink. Her, no, I'll know him as a gentleman when I first see him. He dresses and talks like a gentleman, but I'm sure it's not him!" The fat proprietor pounded on the counter with a hammer. "Time, gentlemen, please!" Ted Blacker, a former captain of the Ulster Fusiliers, left in a taxi in Cheapside and walked down Moorgate Road. Half Crescent Mews was about halfway to Old Sturt. Number Fourteen was at the very end of the stables, a four-story building of faded red brick. It was in the early Victorian period, and when all the other houses and apartments were stables, a thriving carriage repair shop. There were times when Ted Blacker, who was not very imaginative, thought he could still smell the mixed scents of horses, leather, flowers, varnish, and wood floating around the stables. Entering a narrow cobbled alley, he took off his greatcoat and loosened his regimental tie. Despite the lateness of the hour, the air was still warm and clammy. Blacker wasn't allowed to wear a tie for us, or anything related to the ego regiment. Disgraced officers do not have such privileges. It didn't bother him. The tie, like Shvedov's ego, his speech and manners, were now needed. Part of the ego image needed for the role he should play in a world he hated, a world that treated him very badly. The world that elevated the ego to officer and gentleman allowed the emu a glimpse into Paradise only to throw the ego back into the gutter. The real reason for the blow - and Ted Blacker believed it with all his heart and soul - the real reason wasn't that ego was caught cheating at cards, or that ego was caught stealing regimental money. The real reason was that his father was a butcher, and his mother was a maid before her marriage. For this and only for this, he was kicked out of the service penniless and without a name. He was only a temporary gentleman. When they needed it, everything was great! When they don't need him, get out! Return to poverty to earn a living. He went to number fourteen, unlocked the gray-painted front door, and began the long climb up the stairs. The stairs were steep and worn; the air was humid and stuffy. Blacker was sweating profusely when he reached the last landing. He pauses to catch his breath, and I tell myself that he's very out of shape. He has to do something about it. Perhaps when he gets to South America with all the money, emu will be able to get back in shape. Drive away the abdomen. He was always immersed in exercise. Emu was only forty-two years old now, and he was too young to afford it.
Money! Pounds, shillings, pence, US dollars, Hong Kong dollars... What's the difference? It was all money. Great money. They could be used to buy any items. If you had them, you were alive. Without them, you were dead. Ted Blacker caught his breath and fumbled in his pocket for a key. Opposite the stairs was a large, dark wooden door. It was painted black. On it, there was a large, golden dragon spewing flames. That day sticker, in Blacker's opinion, was just the right exotic touch, the very first hint of forbidden generosity, of the joys and illicit pleasures that lurked behind the black door. Ego's carefully selected clientele consisted mostly around current young people. There were only two things Blacker needed to join the Dragon Ego Club: caution and money. A lot of both. He stepped through the back door and closed it behind him. The darkness was filled with the soothing and expensive hum of air conditioners. They had cost the emu a considerable sum, but it was necessary. And it was worth it, after all. The people who came to the Dragon Ego Club were left stewing in their own sweat as they engaged in their various, sometimes complicated, love adventures. At one time, separate booths were a problem, but in the end it was solved. At a higher cost. Blacker grimaced, trying to find the light button. At the moment, he had less than fifty pounds, half of which was paid to Cockney bullies. July and August were definitely the hottest months in London, too. What's the deal? Sergei's reserved demeanor slowly seeped into the long, wide, high-ceilinged room. What's the deal? Who cared? He, Blacker, wouldn't last long. Our horseradish is not possible. Not with two hundred and fifty thousand pounds due to Emu. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. Seven hundred thousand American dollars. That was the price he had asked for twenty minutes of film. He will get his price. He was sure of it. Blacker went to the small bar in the corner and poured himself a weak whiskey and soda. He was not an alcoholic and had never touched the drugs he sold: marijuana, cocaine, pot, various pep pills, and last year, LSD... Blacker opened the small refrigerator to get ice for his drink. Yes, there was money from selling drugs. Still, not too much. The really big money was earned by the big boys.
They didn't have any notes worth less than fifty pounds, and they'd have to give half of them away! Blacker took a sip, grimaced, and was honest with himself. He knew his problem, knew why he was always poor. Ego's smile was painful. Horses and roulette. And he's the most miserable bastard that ever existed. Even now, at this very moment, he owed Raft more than five hundred pounds. Recently, he has been hiding, and soon the security forces will come looking for him. I shouldn't think about it, Blacker told himself. I won't be here when they come looking. I'll come to South America safe and sound and with all this money. Just change your name and lifestyle forever. I'll start it all over again, with a clean slate. I swear it. He glanced at his gold watch. Just a few minutes, then an hour. Enough time. The egos of the Cockney bodyguards are coming in at two-thirty, and he's got it all figured out. Two in front, two in the back, big Alfie with him.
No one, no one, had to leave unless he, Ted Blacker, said the Word. Blacker smiled. He had to be alive to say that word, didn't he? Blacker drank slowly, looking around the large room. In a way, he hated leaving it all behind. It was the brainchild of ego. He built an ego around nothing. Em didn't like to think about the risks he'd taken to get the capital he needed: robbing a jeweler; a cargo of furs stolen from an East Side attic; even a couple of blackmail cases. Blacker could smile grimly at the memory - both of them were notorious bastards he'd known in the army. And so it was. He's got it, damn the tailor! But it was all dangerous. Terribly, terribly dangerous. Blacker was not, and he admitted it, a very brave man. Another reason why he was ready to run away as soon as he got the money-the money for the film. It was too much for a faint-hearted man who was afraid of Scotland Yard, the Narcotics Division, and now even Interpol. The tailor is with them. Sell the movie to the highest bidder and run away.
To hell with England and the world, and to hell with everyone but himself. Such were the thoughts, accurate and true, of Theodore Blacker, formerly of the Ulster Regiment. To hell with the ego, too, if you think about it. And especially the damned Colonel Alistair Ponanby, who had crushed Blacker forever with a cold look and a few carefully chosen words. The colonel said: "You are so despicable, Blacker, that I can't feel anything but pity for you. You seem incapable of stealing or even cheating at cards like a gentleman."
The words came back to him despite Blacker's best efforts to block them out, and his narrow face twisted in hatred and agony. He threw his glass across the room with a curse. The Colonel was dead now, out of ego's reach, but the world hadn't changed. Ego enemies are not lost. There is a lot of Ih left in the world. She was alone around them. Princess. Princess Morgana da Gama. Ego's thin lips curled into a grin. So everything worked out fine. She, the princess, could pay for everything. Dirty little bitch in shorts like she used to be. He knew about her... Pay attention to the beautiful arrogant manner, cold disdain, snobbery and royal bitchiness, cold green eyes that looked at you without really seeing you, without noticing your existence He, Ted Blacker, knew everything about the princess. "A hell of a lot of people are going to find out soon enough when he sells the tape. The thought gave him intense pleasure, and he glanced at the big sofa in the middle of the long room, and he grinned. What he had seen the princess do on that baharev, what he had done to her, what she had done to him. God! Emu would love to see this image on every front page of every newspaper in the world. He took a long drink and closed his eyes, imagining the main story on the social pages: the beautiful Princess Morgana to Goma, the noblest woman of Portuguese blue blood, the harlot.
Reporter Aster is in town today. In an interview with this reporter in Aldgate, where Nah has a Royal suite, the princess said that Ay was looking forward to getting into the Dragon Club and doing more esoteric sexual acrobatics. The haughty princess, when questioned in more detail, said that it was ultimately a matter of semantics, but insisted that even in today's democratic world, such things are reserved only for the noble and noble-born. The old-fashioned way, said the Princess, was still quite suitable for the peasants. . . .
Ted Blacker heard laughter in the room. A hideous laugh, more like the screeching of hungry, mad rats scratching at the hull. With a shock, he realized that the laughter was his own ego. He immediately dismissed the fantasy. Maybe he went a little crazy with this hatred. It must be issued annually. The hate was fun enough, but it didn't pay off on its own. Blacker wasn't going to run the movie again until three men arrived, the clients ' egos. He'd watched it a hundred times. But now he picked up his glass, walked over to the special sofa, and pressed one of the small mother-of-pearl buttons so artfully and unobtrusively sewn into the armrest. There was a faint mechanical hum as a small white screen descended from the ceiling at the far end of the room. Blacker pressed another button, and behind him, a projector hidden in a groan shot a bright beam of white light at the screen. He took a sip, lit a long cigarette, crossed his ankles on the leather ottoman, and relaxed. If it wasn't for showing it to potential customers, it would be the last time he sees the movie. He offered both negatives and wasn't going to cheat. He will enjoy his money. The first figure that appeared on the screen was egoist. He was checking the hidden camera for the correct angles. Blacker studied the ego image with rather grudging approval. He had a chance. And he was unkempt with his comb and brush-the ego bald spot was too obvious. It occurred to Em that now, with Ego's new wealth, he might be able to afford a hair transplant. He watched Yevgeny sitting there, lighting a cigarette, fidgeting with the creases in his trousers, frowning and smiling in the direction of the camera.
Blacker smiled. He recalled his thoughts at that particular moment, he was worried that the princess would hear the hum of the hidden camera. He decided not to worry. By the time he turns on the camera, she'll be safe on her LSD journey. She won't hear us camera, us much else. Blacker checked his gold watch again. It's a quarter to two now. There's still plenty of time. The movie only lasted a minute or so around half an hour. The flickering image of Blacker on the screen suddenly turned its head toward Day. It was the Princess who knocked. He watched as Sam reached for the button and turned off the camera. The screen went blinding white again. Now Blacker in the flesh pressed the button again. The screen went black. He stood up and took out new cigarettes from each of the jade packs. Then he went back to the couch and pressed the button again, activating the projector again. He knew exactly what he was about to see. It had been half an hour since he'd let her in. Blacker recalled every detail with perfect clarity. Princess da Gama expected others to be present. At first, she tried not to be alone with him, but Blacker used all his charm, gave her a cigarette and a drink, and persuaded her to stay for a few minutes... This was enough time for emu, because her drink was filled with LSD. Blacker knew even then that the princess had only stayed with him out of sheer boredom. He knew that she despised him, just as her ego despised the rest of her world, and that she considered ego less than the dirt under her feet. That was one of the reasons he'd chosen her for blackmail. Hate for everyone like you. There was also the pure joy of knowing her in a carnal way, forcing her to do nasty things, lowering her to his level. And nah had the money. And very high connections in Portugal. Her uncle's high position, he couldn't remember the man's name, he held a high position in the cabinet.
Yes, Princess da Gama was supposed to be a good investment. As much good - or bad - as Blacker could not have imagined at the time. All this came later. He was now watching the movie unfold with a smug expression on his rather handsome face. Odin's ego of fellow officers once said that Blacker looked like a " very handsome advertising executive." He turned on the hidden camera only half an hour after the princess unknowingly took her first dose of LSD. He watched as her demeanor gradually changed as she fell quietly into a half-trance. She didn't mind when he led her to a special sofa. Blacker waited another ten minutes before turning on the camera. In that interval, the princess began to talk about herself with devastating directness. Under the influence of the drug, she considered Blacker an old and dear friend. He smiled now, remembering some of the words she'd used - words that weren't usually associated with a blood princess. One of her first comments really struck Blacker. "In Portugal," she said, " they think I'm crazy. Totally crazy. They'd put me away if they could. To stay out of Portugal, you see. They know all about me, my reputation, and they really think I'm crazy. They know I drink and take drugs and sleep with any man who asks me to - well, almost any dude. I still sometimes draw a line under it." That, Blacker remembered, wasn't how he'd heard it. This was another reason why he chose her. It was rumored that when the princess was drunk, which was most of the time, or under the influence of drugs, she would sleep with Hema anywhere in pants or, faute de nue, skirts. After the rush of conversation, she almost lost her mind, only smiling vaguely at em as he began to undress. It was, he remembered now, watching the movie, like undressing a doll. She didn't resist or help when her legs and arms moved to any desired position. Her eyes were half-closed, and she seemed to really think that she was alone. Her wide red mouth was half open in a vague smile. The man Eugene felt his ego loins start to react when he saw himself on the screen. The princess was wearing a thin linen dress, not quite a mini, and she obediently raised her slender arms as he pulled the ego over her head. She wore very little underneath. A black bra and tiny black lace pants. Garter belt and long textured white stockings. Ted Blacker, watching the movie, started sweating a little in the air-conditioned room. After all these weeks, the damn thing still bothered him. He enjoyed it. He confessed that it will always remain one of his most precious and cherished memories. He undid her bra and slid his ego down her arms. Her breasts, larger than he'd imagined, with pinkish-brown tips, stood out firmly and snow-white around her ribcage. Blacker stood up, standing behind Nah, and he played with her breasts with one hand, while with the other he pressed another button to turn on the zoom lens and catch a close-up of her. The princess didn't notice anything. In the close-up, so clear that the tiny pores on her nose were visible, her eyes were closed, and there was a gentle half-smile between them. If she felt the ego of the hand or responded, it wasn't noticeable. Blacker still wore her garter belt and stockings. Garters were an ego fetish, and by this time he was so engrossed in arousal that he'd almost forgotten the real reason for this sexual charade. Money. He began to put those long, long legs - so curvy in their long white stockings-exactly the way Emu wanted, Eugene. She obeyed every ego command, never once telling us or objecting. By this time, the princess was already far away, and if she noticed egoism at all, it was only in the vaguest form. Blacker was a vague addition to the scene, nothing more. Over the next twenty minutes, Blacker forced her through the entire sexual gamut. He called himself all the poses. All the things that a man and a woman could have done to each other, they did. Again and again...
She played her part, he used a zoom lens for close range - Blacker had certain apparatuses on hand - some of the Dragon Club customers did have very strange tastes-and he used ih all on the Princess. This she also accepted with equanimity, not showing us her sympathy, we like it. After all, during the last four minutes of the film, after showing off his sexual ingenuity, Blacker sated his lust in her by beating her up and fucking her like an animal. The screen went blank. Blacker turned off the projector and walked over to the small bar, checking his watch. The Cockneys will be here soon. Insurance that he would survive the night. Blacker had no illusions about what kind of men he was going to meet tonight. Ih will be thoroughly searched before being allowed to climb the stairs to the Dragon Club. Ted Blacker came downstairs, leaving the air-conditioned room. He decided not to wait for Holly Doolittle to speak to him. For one thing, Al's voice was hoarse, and for another, the phones might have been connected in some way. You would never know that. When you were playing for a quarter of a million pounds and your life, you had to think well of everything. The tiny lobby was damp and deserted. Blacker waited in the shadows under the stairs. At 2:29 p.m., Alfie Doolittle entered the lobby. Blacker hissed at him, and Angell turned to stare at him, one meaty hand instinctively reaching for the front of his shirt. "Geez," Alfie said, " I thought you wanted it blown up?" Blacker put a finger to his lips: "Keep your voice down, Bella boga! Where are the others? "Joe and Iri are already here. Ih sent her back, like you said. Two more will be here soon. Blacker nodded in satisfaction. He headed for the Cockney special. "What do you have tonight?" Let me see, please, Alfie Doolittle, with a contemptuous smile on his thick lips, quickly take out a knife, a pair of brass knuckles and a pair of brass knuckles.
"Brass knuckles for beating, Teddy, if necessary, and a knife if there's an emergency, you might say. All the guys have the same thing as me. Blacker nodded again. The last thing he wants is murder. Very good. I'll be right back." Stay here until your men arrive, and then come up. Make sure they know their orders - they have to be polite, courteous, but they have to search my guests. Any weapons found will be confiscated and will not be returned. I repeat - do not return it back."
Blacker thought it would take some time for the ego "guests" to acquire new weapons, even if they meant violence. He intended to make the most of this time to say goodbye to the Dragon Club forever and hide until they came to their senses. They will never find the ego. Alfie frowned. "My men know their orders, Teddy." Blacker headed back upstairs. Over his shoulder, he said curtly, " Just so oni ih isn't forgotten." Alfie frowned again. Fresh sweat broke out on Blacker as he climbed. He couldn't find a way around it. He sighed and paused on the third landing to catch his breath, wiping his face with a scented handkerchief. No, Alfie should be there. No plan has ever been perfect. "I don't want to be alone, unprotected, with these guests. Ten minutes later Angell knocked on the door. Blacker let him in, gave Em a bottle of ale, and showed him where he should sit in a straight-backed chair. ten feet to the right of the huge sofa, and on the same plank as it. "If it's not trouble," Blacker explained, " you have to act like they're three monkeys. I don't see anything, I don't hear anything, I don't do anything...
He added reluctantly: "I'm going to show the film to my guests. Of course, you will also see the ego. She wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone else if she were you. it could get you into a lot of trouble."
"I know how to keep my mouth shut."
Blacker patted ego's special shoulder, em didn't like the contact. "Then know what you will see. If you look closely at the film, you might learn something." Ade gave ego a blank look. "I know everything I need to know." "Lucky man," Blacker said. It was a pathetic joke at best, completely useless to a big cockney. The first knock on the back door came a minute later, then three. Blacker pointed a warning finger at Alfie, who was sitting as still as a Buddha in his chair. The first customer was small, immaculately dressed in a pale yellow summer suit and an expensive white panama hat.
He bowed slightly as Blacker opened the door. "Forgive me, please." I'm looking for Mr. Theodore Blacker." Is that you?" Blacker nodded. Who are you? The little Chinese man held out a card. Blacker glanced at nah and saw the elegant black script: "Mr. Wang Hai." Nothing more. Our words about the Chinese Embassy. Blacker stood off to the side. "Come in, Mr. Hi. Please take a seat on the big sofa. Your place is in the left corner. Would you like a drink?" "Nothing, please. The Chinaman didn't even look at Angell Doolittle as he took his seat next to her. Another knock on the door. This guest was very large and shiny black with distinctly negroid features. Nen was wearing a cream-colored suit, slightly stained and out of fashion. The lapels were too wide. In one huge black hand he held a battered, cheap straw hat. Blacker stared at the man and thanked God for Angell's presence. This Negro was formidable. "Your name, please?" The nigger's voice was soft and slurred, with some kind of accent. Ego's eyes, with their dull yellow cornea, stared into Slacker's.
The negro said: "My name doesn't matter. Well done=) as a representative of Prince Sobhuzi Askari. That's enough." Blacker nodded. Please have a seat." On the couch. In the right corner. Would you like a drink or a cigarette? The negro refused. Five minutes passed before the third customer knocked on the door. They passed in uneasy silence. Blacker kept casting a quick, sly glance at the two men sitting next to him. They didn't talk or look at each other. while... and he felt his ego nerves start to shake. Why didn't the bastard come? Did something go wrong? Please God, not forever! Now that he's so close to that quarter of a million pounds. He almost whimpered with relief when the knock finally came. The man was tall, almost thin, with a shock of curly dark hair that needed cutting. He wasn't wearing a hat. her hair was bright yellow.He wore these black socks and handmade brown leather sandals.
"Mr. Blacker?" The voice was a light tenor, but the contempt and disdain in nen cut like a whip. Ego the English was good, but with a pronounced Latin twist. Blacker nodded, looking down at the bright shirt. “yeah. Her Blacker. You used to...? " He didn't quite trust it. Major Carlos Oliveira. Portuguese intelligence. Let's get down to it?"
The voice said what the words didn't: pimp, pimp, garbage rat, dog dung, the most disgusting shit of reptiles. The voice in some strange way refuted the reports that appeared in the media to Blacker about the Princess. Blacker didn't lose his cool, speaking the language of his younger clients. There's too much at stake. He pointed to the couch. "You'll be sitting there, Major Oliveira. In the middle, please. Blacker locked the door twice and bolted it. He took out the usual postcards with stamps in three pockets. He handed each of them two men and a card.
Moving a little away from them, he gave his little prepared speech. "You will notice, gentlemen, that each postcard is addressed to a mailbox at Chelsea. Needless to say, I won't be taking the cards in person, even though I'll be around. Of course, close enough to see if anyone makes any effort to follow the person who picks up the card. I wouldn't recommend this if you really want to run a business. "You're going to have a half-hour movie every year. The film is sold to the highest bidder-more than a quarter of a million pounds. I won't accept a bid lower than that. There will be no cheating. There is only one print and a negative, and both are sold at the same price... The little Chinese man leaned forward a little.
"Please, do you have a guarantee for this?"
Blacker nodded. "My word of honor.
Major Oliveira laughed savagely. Blacker blushed, wiped his face with a handkerchief, and continued. Since there can be no other guarantee, you will have to take my word for it. He said with a smile that almost disappeared. "I assure you that I will keep it. I want to live out my life in peace. And my asking price is too high so I don't have to resort to betraying her. ..
The nigger's yellow eyes pierced Blacker. - Please continue with the terms and conditions. There isn't much
Blacker wiped his face again. Did the damn air conditioner shut down? "Of course. It's very simple. Everyone around you, and after you have time to consult with your supervisors, will write the amount of your bid on a postcard. Only numbers, no dollar or pound symbols. also write down the phone number where you can be contacted in complete privacy. I think I can leave that up to you. After I get the cards and study nu, I'll call the highest bidder in due course. Then we will arrange payment and receipt of the film. This, as I said, is very simple.
"Yes," said the little Chinese gentleman. "Very simple." Blacker met his gaze and felt like he was seeing a snake. "Very ingenious," said the Negro. Ego's fists formed two black maces in his lap. Major Carlos Oliveira said nothing, just looked at the Englishman with empty, dark eyes that could have been anything. Blacker struggled with his nerves. He walked over to the couch and pressed the pearl button on the armrest. With a small gesture of bravado, he pointed to a waiting screen at the end of the room. "And now, gentlemen, Princess Morgana, to participate in one of the most interesting moments." The projector whirred. The princess smiled like a lazy, half-asleep cat as Blacker began to unbutton her dress.
Chapter 2
THE DIPLOMAT, one around London's most luxurious and exclusive clubs, is housed in a swanky Georgian house near Three Kings Yard, near Grosvenor Square. It was a hot, sticky night, and the club was boring. There were only a few well-dressed people coming and going, mostly leaving, and playing at the twenty-one table and in the poker rooms was really stuffy. The heatwave that engulfed London was relaxing the sports crowd, depriving ee of gambling. Nick Carter was no exception. The humidity didn't bother ego much, although it might have been possible to do without it, but the weather didn't bother ego. The truth was that Killmaster didn't know, really didn't know, that ego was bothering him. All he knew was that he was restless and irritable; he had previously been in the embassy's eye and danced with his old friend Jake Todhunter in Grosvenor Square. The evening was less than that. Jake set Nick up on a date, a beautiful little Limey with a cute smile and bumps in all the right places. The girl did her best to please, showing every sign that she was at least compliant. There was a big YES written all over her, in the way she looked at Nick, clung to his arm, and snuggled too close to him.
Her father, Lake Todhuuter said, was an important man in the government. Nick Carter didn't care. He had been struck - and only now was beginning to understand why-by a severe case of what Ernest Hemingway called "the galloping stupid donkey." After all, Carter was as close to being rude as a gentleman could get. He excused himself and left. He went out and loosened his tie, unbuttoned his white tuxedo, and walked with a long stride through the burning concrete and asphalt. Via Carlos Place and Mont Sturt to Berkeley Square. There were no nightingales singing. Finally, he turned back and, after passing the Briefcase, impulsively decided to stop in for a drink and refreshment. Nick had a lot of cards in a lot of clubs, and the "Diplomat" was one around them. Now that he had almost finished his drink, he sat down alone at a small table in the corner and found the source of his irritation. It was simple. Killmaster had been inactive for too long. It had been almost two months since Hawk had given em a mission. Nick couldn't remember being out of a job for so long. No wonder he was upset, sullen, angry, and difficult to get along with! Counterintelligence must be going pretty damn slowly - either that, or David Hawke, the ego boss, didn't put Nick in the fight for his own reasons. In any case, something had to be done about it. Nick paid and prepared to leave. He called Hawke first thing in the morning and asked for assignments. So a person could rust. In fact, it was dangerous for a person in the ego field to be idle for too long. It is true that what we have to work out every day, no matter in which part of the world we find ourselves. Yoga was a daily routine. Here in London, he worked out judo, jujitsu, Aikido, and karate with Tom Mitubashi at the last meal gym in Soho. Killmaster now had a 6th degree black belt. None of this mattered. Practice was fine, but what emu needed right now was the real deal. He still had a ferret vacation. Yes. He would. He would drag the old man around the trash - it was still dark in Washington-and demand an immediate assignment.
Things might be slow, but Hawke could always come up with something if pressed. For example, he had a small black book of death where he kept a list of the people he most wanted to see destroyed. Nick Carter was just leaving the club when he heard laughter and applause to his right. There was something strange, strange, false about the sound that caught the ego's attention. It was a little disturbing. Not just drunk - he'd been drunk before - but something else, a high, piercing note that didn't feel right. Ego's curiosity was aroused, and he stopped and looked in the direction of the ship. Three wide, shallow steps led up to the Gothic archway. The sign above the archway read in a modest black hand:: "Private bar for men". The high-pitched laughter rang out again. Nick's alert eye and ear picked up the sound, and the sign, and matched ih. A men's bar, but there was a woman laughing. Drunkenly, almost madly laughing. Nick went down the three steps. He's the one to see the hotel. When he decided to call Hawke, and his good mood returned. After all, it could be one of these nights. Beyond the archway was a long room with a bar along one side. The place was gloomy, except for the bar, where lamps, apparently picked up here and there, had turned the ego into a sort of makeshift podium. Nick Carter hadn't been to a burlesque theater in years, but he recognized the scene immediately. He doesn't know a beautiful young woman who didn't make such a fool of herself. This, he thought, even then, wouldn't be so odd in the scheme of things, but it was a pity. For she was beautiful. Delicious. Even now, with one perfect chest sticking out and her doing what appeared to be a rather sloppy combination of "go-go" and "hoochie son of a bitch," she was beautiful. Somewhere in a dark corner, American music was playing around an American jukebox. Half a dozen men, all in tailcoats, all in their fifties, greeted her, laughing and applauding as she paced and danced up and down the bar.
An elderly bartender with an expression of rejection on a long man stood silently with his arms crossed over his chest in white robes. Killmaster had to admit to a slight shock that was unusual for him. After all, this was the Diplomat Hotel! He would set his bottom dollar on the fact that management doesn't currently know what's going on in the men's barre. Someone was moving in the shadows nearby, and Nick instinctively turned like a flash to face the possible threat. But it was only a servant, an elderly servant in club livery. He was grinning at the dancing girl in the bar, but when he caught Nick's eye, his ego expression immediately changed to pious disapproval. The ego nod to Agent AX was obsequious.
-"It's a shame, isn't it, sir? It's a pity, it's true. You see, it was the gentlemen who pushed her to do it when they shouldn't have. She wandered in here by mistake, poor thing, and they, who should know better, picked her up instantly and danced." For a moment, the piety vanished, and the old man almost smiled. "I can't say she resisted, though, sir. Entered openly in the spirit of, yes. Yes, she's a real horror, this one. It's not the first time I've seen her do these tricks. Ego was interrupted by another round of applause and shouts from the small group of men at the bar. Odin circled them, cupped his hands, and shouted: "Do it, Princess. Take it all off!" Nick Carter looked on, half pleased, half angry. She was too good to humiliate herself with such things. "Who is she?" "What is it?" he asked the servant. The old man, without taking his eyes off the girl, said: "Princess, to make a ruckus, sir. Very rich. Very high muck in the world. Or was, at least. Some of the piety is back. "I'm sorry, sir, as I said. So pretty, and with all her money and blue blood, and-oh, my God, sir, I think she'll take it off! The men in the bar were now insistent, shouting and clapping their hands.
Chant was getting louder: "Take it off... take off... take it off..." The old servant glanced nervously over his shoulder, then at Nick. "And now the gentlemen are going too far, sir. My work is worth finding here." "Then why," Kilbnaster suggested softly, " don't you go?" But the voice was an old man. Ego's watery eyes were fixed on the girl again. But he said: "If my boss ever interferes with this, they will all be banned for life in this institution-each one of them." The ego of the boss, Nick thought, would be the manager. Ego's smile was light. Yes, if the manager suddenly showed up, there would definitely be hell to pay. In a quixotic way that I don't really know and don't care why he did it, Nick moved into the thread bar. Now the girl is immersed in an unabashed punching routine and can be heard that couldn't have been more straightforward. She was wearing a thin green dress that reached to mid-thigh. Just as Nick was about to tap his glass on the bar to get the bartender's attention, the girl suddenly reached out to grab the hem of her miniskirt. In one swift motion, she pulled ego over her head and threw him away from her. It glided through the air, hovered for a moment, and then came down, light and fragrant and smelling of her body, on Nick Cartr's head. Loud shouts and laughter from other men in the bar. Nick pulled free of the fabric - he recognized Lanvin perfume and a very expensive Zhirinovsky-and put the dress on the counter next to him. All the men were looking at him now. Nick returned their unflappable gaze. One or two of them, in the most sober conditions, shifted uneasily and watched
The girl-Nick thought he must have heard the name somewhere before-was now wearing only a tiny bra, her right breast exposed, a pair of thin white panties, garter belts, and long lace panties. black stockings. She was a tall girl with slender, rounded legs and exquisitely shaped ankles and small feet. She was wearing open-toed patent-leather ballet pumps and high heels. She danced with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her jet-black hair was cut very short and close to the target.
Nick had the fleeting thought that she might have several wigs and use them. The record on the jukebox was a medley of old American jazz tunes. Now the band briefly moved on to a few hot bars of Tiger Rag. The girls ' writhing pelvis caught the rhythm of a tiger's roar, tuba's hoarse um-pa. Her eyes were still closed, and she leaned far back, legs spread wide, and began to roll and squirm. Her left breast now slid out around the small bra. The men below were shouting and smashing time. "Hold that tiger, hold that tiger! Take it off, princess. Shake it, princess!" One of the men, a balding guy with a huge belly, dressed in an evening suit, tried to climb up on the counter. Ego comrades dragged back. The scene reminded Nick of an Italian movie whose title he couldn't remember. Killmaster, in fact, was in an ambivalent position. Part of his ego was a little outraged at the sight, feeling sorry for the poor drunk girl in the bar; another part of Nick, a bestial one that couldn't be denied, started reacting to the long, perfect legs and swaying bare breasts. Because of his bad mood, he didn't have a woman on Sundays. He was on the edge of arousal now, and he knew it and didn't want it. Not like that. Emu couldn't wait to leave the bar. Now the girl noticed ego and danced in ego's direction. Screams of annoyance and indignation came from the other men as she strutted over to where Nick was standing, still shaking and shaking his toned buttocks. She was looking at him openly, but he doubted she really saw it. She couldn't see much. She stood frankly over Nick, her legs spread wide, her hands on her hips. She stopped all movement and looked down at him. Ih's eyes met, and for a moment he saw a faint glimmer of intelligence in the green, alcohol-soaked depths.
The girl smiled at emu. "You, pretty boy," she said. "I like you. I want you. You look like... I can trust you... please take me home. Brylev's eyes went blank, as if a light switch had been flipped. She leaned into Nick, her long legs beginning to buckle at the knees. Nick had seen it happen before, but never to him. This girl was losing consciousness. It's coming, it's coming... A prankster in a group of men shouted, " Timber!" The girl made one last attempt to strain her knees, achieved some rigidity, immobility of the statue. Her eyes were blank and staring. She fell slowly off the counter, with a strange grace, into the waiting arms of Nick Carter. He easily caught and held her, her bare breasts pressed against her large chest. What now? He's a woman's hotel. But in the first place, he didn't particularly like drunk women. Emu liked women who were lively and energetic, agile and sensual. But he needed her if he wanted a woman, and now he thought he did, he had a whole book full of London phone numbers. The fat drunk, the same man who tried to climb on the counter, tipped the scales. He approached Nick with a scowl on his plump red face. "I'll take the girl, old man. It's ours, you know, not yours. I, we have plans for a little princess. Killmaster decided immediately. "I don't think so," he said quietly to the man. "The lady asked me to take her home. You heard me. I think I'll do this:. He knew what "plans"were. "On the outskirts of New York or in a posh club in London. Men - they are also animals, dressed in jeans or evening suits. Now he glanced at the other men in the bar. They stood apart, muttering to each other, and looking at him and ignoring the fat man, Nick picked up the girl's dress from the floor, walked to the bar, and turned to the servant who still lingered in the shadows. The old servant looked at him with a mixture of horror and admiration.
Nick tossed the dress to the old man. "You." Help me get her to the dressing room." We'll get her dressed, and... -
Wait a minute, take the tailor, " the fat man said. "Who the hell are you, tailor, Yankee, to come here and run off with our girl? I've been buying that whore drinks all night and, if you think you can... uhltirimmppfxxxx",
Nick tried very hard not to hurt the man. He extended the first three fingers of his right hand, flexed his ih, turned his palm up, and hit the man just below the sternum. It might have been a fatal blow if he'd known that, but AX-man was very, very gentle. The fat man suddenly collapsed, both hands clutching at his swollen body. Ego's flabby face turned gray, and he groaned. The other men muttered and exchanged glances, but made no attempt to interfere.
Nick gave ih a hard smile. "Thank you, gentlemen, for your patience. You're smarter than you think. He pointed to the fat man still panting on the floor. It'll be fine as soon as he gets his breath back." The unconscious girl was waddling over Ego's left arm...
Nick snapped at the old man. "Turn on the saint." When the dim yellow glow came on, he straightened the girl up, holding her under his arms. An old man was waiting with a green dress. "Wait a minute. With two quick movements, Nick pushed each velvety white breast back into the cradle of her bra. "Now, put this over your head and pull it down." Nick grinned at emu, " What's up, veteran? Have you never seen a half-naked woman before?"
The old servant of a vast country is the last vestiges of dignity. "No, sir, about forty years old. This, sir, is a bit of a, uh, shock. But I'll try to manage. You'll do it, " Nick said. "You can handle it. And hurry up with it. They threw the dress over the girl's head and pulled her ego down. Nick held her sincerely, his arm wrapped around her waist. "Do you have a purse or something? Women usually have it. "I believe there was a purse in there, sir." I seem to recall her having an ego somewhere in the bar. Maybe I can find out where she lives-if you don't know?" The man shook his head. — I don't know. But I think I read in the papers that she lives at the Aldgate Hotel. You found out, of course. And if I may say so, sir, you can hardly take the lady back to Aldgate in this.".. "I know," Nick said. "I know. Bring your wallet. Let me worry about the rest. The man ducked back into the bar. Now she was leaning against him, standing up quite easily with self-support, resting her head on emu's shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed. "my wide red earlobe was a little wet. She was breathing easily. Nah smelled faintly of whiskey mixed with a subtle perfume. Killmaster felt the itch and ache in his loins again. She was beautiful, she was desirable. Even in this state. Killmaster said no to the temptation to go and jump on nah with a run. He'd never gone to bed with a woman who didn't even know what she was doing - he wasn't going to start tonight. The old man came back with a bag of white alligator skins. Nick tucked it into his jacket pocket. Around the other pocket, he pulled out a pair of pound notes and handed ih to the man. "Go and see if you can call a taxi." The girl tilted her face to the ego's face. Her eyes were closed. She was dozing peacefully. Nick Carter sighed.
"You're not ready? You can't do that, can you? But I have to do it all. Okay, so be it."He slung it over his shoulder and walked out through the dressing room. He didn't look in the bar. He went up the three steps under the archway, and turned toward the lobby. "You're there! The voice was thin and grumpy. Nick turned to the owner of the voice. The movement caused the girl's thin skirt to rise slightly, billowing, exposing her taut thighs and tight white panties. Nick pulled off his dress and straightened it. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did you say something?" Nibs - no doubt it was him-stood yawning. Ego's mouth continued to move like a fish drawn around water, but there were no words. He was a thin, balding blond man. Ego's thin neck was too small for a stiff collar. The flower on the lapel denied the media reports to Niku shchegolei. AX-man was smiling charmingly, as if having a pretty girl perched on his shoulder with her head and breasts hanging forward was a daily routine.
He says, " Did you say something?" The manager looked at the girl's feet, his mouth still moving silently. Nick pulled off the green dress to cover the white strip of flesh between the top of her stockings and her panties. He smiled and started to turn away.
"I'm sorry again. I thought you were talking to me."
The manager finally found his voice. It was thin, high, and filled with indignation. His small fists were clenched, and he shook them at Nick Carter. I mean, I mean, I demand an explanation of all this, what the hell is going on in my club? Nick looked innocent. And puzzled. "Continue?" I don't understand. I'm just leaving with the princess and - " The manager pointed a trembling finger behind the girl. "Alaa is the Princess of da Gama. Again! Drunk again, I assume?" Nick shifted Alenka's ee onto his shoulder and grinned. "I suppose you could call it that, yes. I'll take her home. " - Okay, - said the manager. "If you would be so kind." Be so kind as to make sure that she never comes back here.
He clasped his hands together in what might have been a prayer gesture. "She's my terror," he said.
"She's the bane and bane of every club in London. Go ahead, sir. Please go with her. Immediately." "Sure," Nick said. "I take it she's staying at Aldgate, eh?"
The manager turned green. Ego's eyes bulged around his head. -"Oh my God, man, you can't take her there!" Even at this hour. Especially not at this hour. There are a lot of people there. Aldgate is always full of newspapermen, wicker columnists. If these parasites see her, and she talks to them, tells them she was here tonight, I'll be there, my club will be there... Nick was tired of playing games. He turned back to the foyer. The girl's arms dangled like a doll's from her chest. "Stop worrying," he said to the man.
"She won't talk to Hema and me for a long time. I'll take care of it." He gave the man a meaningful wink, and then said, " I don't know.: "You really have to do something about these baths, these brutes." He nodded toward the men's bar. -"Do you know they're trying to take advantage of this poor girl?" Hotels and further use, rape explicit in the bar when its come. She was preserved by her honor. If it wasn't for him-well, talk about the headlines in the papers! You'd be shut down tomorrow. Nasty steam engines, they're all there, all of them. Ask the bartender about Tolstoy with a bad stomach. I had to hit this man to save the girl. Nibs staggered. He reached for the railing at the side of the stairs and gripped it, " Sir. Did you hit someone? Yes-rape. In my men's barre? "It's just a dream, and I'm going to wake up soon. I - ""Don't bet on it," Nick said cheerfully. "Well, the lady and I had better retire. But you'd better take my advice and cross off a few people on your list. He nodded toward the bar again. "There's bad company down there. Very bad company, especially in one with a big life. It wouldn't surprise me if he was some kind of sexual pervert." A new look of horror gradually appeared on the manager's pale face. He stared at Nick, his face twitching, his pleading eyes straining. Ego's voice trembled.
"A big man with a big belly? With a ruddy face? Nick's answering gaze was cold. "If you call this fat and flabby guy a nobleman, then it might be that person. Why? Who is he? The manager put a thin hand to his forehead. Now he was sweating profusely. "emu owns a majority stake in this club." Nick peered through the glass door of the foyer and saw an old servant call a cab to the curb. He waved at the manager. "How nice for Sir Charles now. Maybe, for the good of the club, you can get ego to play blackball yourself. Good night. And the lady also wanted emu to say good night. The man didn't seem to hear the hints. He was looking at Carter as if he was a devil who had just come out of hell. "Did you hit Sir Charles?" Nick chuckled. "Not exactly. Just tickled my ego a little. Your health
The old man helped him load the princess into the car. Nick gave the old man a fiver and smiled at em. "Thank you, Father. You'd better go now and get some smelling salts - Nibs will need them." Goodbye." He told the driver to go to the Kensington area. He studied the sleeping face that rested so lightly on his big shoulder. He caught the smell of whiskey again. She must have been drinking too much tonight. Nick ran into a problem. He didn't want to bring her back to the hotel like this. He doubted that nah had a reputation to lose, but even so, it wasn't something that could be done to a lady. And she was a lady, and even in this state. Nick Carter, at various times and in various parts of the world, had shared a bed with enough ladies to recognize one around them when he saw that she might be drunk, loose, or whatever, but she was still a lady. He knew the type, madcap, harlot, nymphomaniac, bitch - or whatever she might have been. But his features and stance, his regal grace, were impossible to hide even in the throes of drunkenness. This Nibs man was right about one thing: the Aldgete, although a posh and expensive hotel, was not at all level-headed or conservative in the current London sense. The huge lobby will be bustling and bustling at this hour of the morning, and even in this heat there are always a few swingers in London - and there will definitely be a reporter or two and a photographer lurking somewhere in a wooden house. He looked back at the girl, then the taxi hit a pothole, an unpleasant springy bounce, and the girl fell away from him. Nick pulled her back. She muttered something and put one arm around ego's neck. Her soft, wet mouth slid down ego's cheek.
"Again," she muttered. "Please do it again." Nick pulled her hand free and patted her cheek. He couldn't leave her to the wolves. "The Prince's Gate," he said to the driver. "Knightsbridge Road. You know that..."I know, sir." He would take her to his apartment and put her to bed. "...Killmaster admitted to himself that he was more than curious about the Princess de Gama. He vaguely knew who she was now. From time to time, he'd read about it in the papers, or maybe he'd even heard it discussed by his ego friends. Killmaster wasn't a" public face " in any conventional sense - like very few highly qualified agents - but he remembered the name. Her full name is Morgana da Gama. A completely real princess. royal Portuguese blood. Vasco da Gama was her distant ancestor. Nick smiled at his sleeping girlfriend. He smoothed the smooth dark cap of his hair. Maybe he wouldn't call Hawke first thing in the morning, after all. Forever give hey some time If she was so beautiful and desirable drunk, what could she be sober with?
Maybe. Nick shrugged his broad shoulders. He can afford to be a hell of a disappointment. This will take some time. Let's see where the trail leads. They turned onto Prince's Gate and continued on to Bellevue Crescent. Nick pointed to his apartment building. The driver pulled up to the curb.
"Do you need help with her?"
"I think," said Nick Carter,"I can handle it." He paid the man, then dragged the girl through a taxi onto the sidewalk. She sat swaying in his arms. Nick tried to get her to go, but she refused. The driver watched with interest.
"Are you sure you don't need any help, sir?" I'd be glad to see her... "No, thank you. He slung her over his shoulder again, feet first, her arms and legs dangling behind him. It was meant to be. Nick smiled at the driver. "See. Nothing like that. Everything is under control." These words will haunt him.