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The pretty. overworked receptionist frowned.
"The
"Parza .
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Dominick Parza. "
NICK CARTER
The receptionist consulted the current patient file. "Mr.
Parza is in the intensive care wing—
"Yeah, I know. He's bad, huh?"
"Room nine-twelve, but visiting hours are over, I'm
afraid."
"Yeah, I know, but I think my aunt and my brother are
still up there." She made a vague gesture with the bouquet.
"I'll only be a minute."
*Ihe receptionist started to object some more, but an insis-
tent phone drew her attention.
The short blonde scooted to the bank of elevators. She had
the elevator to herself. At this hour all the visitor traffic
was going down. Getting out on the ninth she looked
to her right. Nurses, attendants, and interns were moving
in and out of doorways, getting ward patients ready for
sleep. She turned left, pushing through a pair of swinging
doors into the section reserved for patients with private
rooms.
On the other side of the swinging doors, the floor lights
had already been dimmed for the night. There was only one
person in sight down the corridor: a uniformed policeman
sitting in a straight-backed chair beside the closed door of
a private room. He was half asleep reading a paperback book.
The blonde allowed herself a brief smile. The tip-off was
a joke.
The policeman in front of Benito Coronado's room looked
up automatically when the swinging doors opened. He
looked sleepily bored as he watched the dumpy blonde turn
toward the counter separating the corridor from the nurses'
cubicle. There was only one nurse in the cubicle.
"Excuse me," the blonde asked, "where can I find room
nine-twelve?"
The nurse looked up with a frown. The name tag pinned



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on her uniform read A. Bolt. She said, "Around the comer
at the end. But I'm afraid visiting hours are over."
The blonde made a vague gesture with her bouquet and
gave the nurse a polite smile. "I know. I'll only be a minute.
I promise."
The nurse sighed distractedly and returned her attention
to the charts on her desk. The blonde strolled away down
tyr corridor with her bouquet. She gave the cop in the chair
the curious glance that would be exrcted, went past him
to the corner at the end, then disappared around it. The
cop went back to reading his book.
She went past nine-twelve, into a small solarium.
There was a public phone booth in the corner. She slid into
it, dropped a coin in the slot, and dialed the number of the
hospital. She asked the switchboard for Nurse Bolt on the
ninth floor, was put through, and asked, "Is this Nurse Bolt?"
Yes
•enlis is Clearwater in O.R. Could you run up here for a
"What for? I'm--
"Honey. you know those first-year interns. Some paper
work foul-up,"
"Okay," Nurse Bolt sighed, "I'll be right there."
The blonde hung up and looked at her watch. When the
second hand crept halfway around the dial, she got out of
the booth. Leaving the solarium, she went back around the
comer and down past the cop to the nurses' station.
It was empty.
The cop put the book on his lap and shrugged. He nodded
toward the swinging dcx»rs, "She went out there a couple
of seconds ago."
She stuck the flowers in his face. "Smell," she said with
a smile.
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NICK CARTER




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It vas a natural reaction. He smelled just as she triggered
the Weblor. One whiff was enough. He took three and
staggered against the wall.
The blonde caught the chair with her free hand to keep
it from clattering over as the cop toppled off it sideways
and settled on the floor, out cold.
In practically one movement, she orrned the door and
shoved the chair inside the room. She kicked the book in
behind it, and, grabbing the cop by his feet, dragged him
beyond the door just enough to clear it. nis done, she
closed and I(Xked the door and moved to the bed.
Coronado was in a deep, drugged sleep. Half his face
was swathed in bandages, his big belly bulging under the
sheet, his right arm extended in a cast and sling.
Moving swiftly but with practiced movements. she with-
drew a hypodermic syringe from the big bag and broke the
cap.
Just as she inserted the needle in Coronado's left arm,
the body stirred. She looked up. His eyes were open, glazed,
but beginning to focus. He made groggy sounds and then
-words.
"Felicia . you
"Yes, Benito .
She pushed the plunger.
"No, you . .
Coronado's eyes told his mind and suddenly they filled
with fear. He opened his mouth to scream. She kept pushing
the plunger with her left thumb while she chopped down
across his windpipe with the side of her gloved right hand.
It took only a few seconds.
She left the needle in her victim's arm, retrieved the
Weblor from the flowers. and left the room.
The nurses' alcove was still empty. She went through the
swinging and strode past the elevators to the end of
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the ward section, She took the elevator there down to the
ground floor, left the hospital by the side ambulance en-
trance, and walked two blocks to the trash dumpsters at the
edge of the parking lot.
In the darkness between two of the dumpsters, she re-
moved the dress and the shoes. They, along with the scarf
akd the glasses, went into the dumpster. From the bag she
got a pair of sneakers and the Weblor.
Now she was dressed in a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and
the sneakers. When the wig was off, it and the bag went
into the dumpster along with the dark gloves.
By the time she reached the car, the pins were out of her
dark hair and it fell into natural curls around her shoulders,
She drove back to Manhattan. A couple of blocks before
she reached her East Side apartment, she pulled over to a
phone booth. Since it was near the U.N. building, where
patrol cars constantly cruised, it was probably one of the
few public booths in Manhattan that contained a phone that
still worked.
The exterior of the house perched above La Paz was
modest. The interior was elegant, particularly the large main
room where the three men sat conversing quietly. The room
had been done in black and soft shades of brown that ranged
from creamed coffee to cinnamon to dark amber. The ceiling
was painted a light tan and the walls were covered with a
faint brown material that was patterned in raised, dark brown
fleurs-de-lis. Two black leather couches of an indeterminate
but comfortable design flanked the fireplace whose ornate
mantel had been carved out of brown marble. One entire
wall of the room was tinted glass, giving a view
of the lights of La Paz spread out for miles below.
Two of the men sat in leather armchairs sipping wine.
The third sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. He was
34
NICK CARTER
a huge man. well over three hundred pounds, who wheezed
slightly as he spoke.
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wall of the room was tinted glass, giving a view
of the lights of La Paz spread out for miles below.
Two of the men sat in leather armchairs sipping wine.
The third sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. He was
34
NICK CARTER
a huge man. well over three hundred pounds, who wheezed
slightly as he spoke.
At the moment he was emptying an enormous can of
peach halves in heavy syrup into a large bowl. Over the
peaches he poured an eight-ounce can of chcw•olate syrup.
He topped all of this with some vanilla ice cream as a tiny
bit of drool escaped from the comer of his lip.
"Delicious, gentlemen, u•uly delicious." he wheezed.
"Sure you won't join me?"
"No, Senor Rosero," the taller of the two men, a dark
Cuban with a heavy mustache, replied. s 'the wine is fine. "
The second man, narrow-shouldered with a pinched face
and half-inch-thick glasses. also declined. His Spanish was
heavily accented, and he averted his eyes as the corpulent
giant trhind the desk greedily spooned the chocolate-
drenched and ice cream into his mouth.
Rodolfo Rosero had been bom fifty-nine years earlier in
the tiny village of Puicabo in the southem mountains of
Bolivia. He was the son of Pablo Rosero, who had lived
his whole life under the hot sun picking coffee beans and
dying at the age of thirty-seven, leaving six children and a
worn-out wife who would survive him by only two years.
Rodolfo was ten when his father died. and he was deter-
mined not to live and die in poverty. The first step on his
way to riches was coca. The peasants relied on it, needed
to chew so many leaves a day in order to get through the
long, grueling hours of labor in the sun.
For ten years he profited and invested his money well.
His older and younger brothers had worked for Rodolfo all
this time. They, t(X). had prospered, but in their own minds
not enough. They decided to stage a coup and take over the
business themselves. It was to take place in the evening
during a party for Rodolfo'_s twenty-first birthday.



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during a party for Rodolfo'_s twenty-first birthday.
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The takeover had failed because the two brothers didn't
understand Rodolfo's organizational ability and the age-old
balance of power wielded with favors. It was simple, The
men the two brothers had recruited for their coup owed
more favors to Rodolfo than they did to the brothers.
Rodolfo himself shot his two brothers in the head, and
their bodies were never found. From that day on, Rodolfo
Rosero was a man to be feared and respected.
At first he only dabbled in politics. a little money here.
a little money there. But then cocaine became big business.
and Rosero got richer than his wildest dreams. He started
thinking that there was nothing that could stop him from
going to the very top. He wanted to run the country, literally
own it.
But the ruling conservative party and the smaller, almost
nonexistent liberal party would have nothing to do with him.
So Rosero began to plan. He organized the peasants, and
called strikes when he needed them to embarrass the govern•
ment and force the men in power to meet at least some of
his demands.
He also organized the growers in the mountains, and
made a pact with the bandit-turned-Marxist guerrilla, Em-
manuel Mercado, to protect them.
At last Rosero was the power in everything but name.
And then he learned of the Charcas.
The Charcas were a group of nationalists made up mostly
of wealthy landowners and merchants in the larger cities of
Bolivia. They were named after the Chaco area of upper
Chile and lower Peru, which Bolivia once owned. The Chaco
had once given Bolivia access to the sea, Bolivia fought
and lost wars from 1825 clear up to 1929 trying to keep
this land. When they finally lost it. Bolivia became land-
locked.
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NICK CARTER




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In the minds of many Bolivians, this lack of a seaport
put them at a disadvantage and made of them a second-rate
country.
For years. little attention had been paid to the Charcas,
mainly their goals seemed utterly ludicrous. They
did little more than make noisy waves.
But then they were embraced by Rodolfo Rosero, and
slowly but surely they had teeth. Many of the older members
were against Rosero. One by one. however, through death
or intimidation, these memt*rs disappeared from the scene.
Terrorism. assassination, and a steamrolling propaganda
machine now elevated the Charcas to a political and
economic force to be reckoned with. And the mover and
shaker behind that force was Rodolfo Rosero.
And Rosero was a man who always looked ahead. He
knew that even if he reached the pinnacle of power, the
United States would never let him sit on the throne. That
is, unless they thought that he and he alone was a bulwark
against Communism. And what better way to prove that
than to court the Communists, and then, when the time
came, dump them?
Rosero had made quiet overtures to Cuba. Cuba. of
course, informed Moscow. Now the big man had Havana's
and Moscow's sympathy. and with it the sympathy of all
the poor that their party line controlled in South America.
Only one man had seen through Rosero's Machiavellian
cunning and deviousness: Benito Coronado.
Now, as Rosero brought the huge bowl to his lips and
drank the last of the chocolate-flavored peach syrup, he had
every reason to believe that Coronado would soon out
of his way.
"What about Mercado?" said the visitor from Moscow.
S 'What about him?" Rosero replied, opening the mammoth
BOLIVIAN HEAT
refrigerator behind his desk and survevinp its
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refrigerator behind his desk and surveying its well-st(Xked
trays.
"We have reason to trlieve that he is only biding his
time, that when the revolution comes, it is he who will try
to become president."
Rosero chose a platter of chicken, closed the refrigerator
d80r, and continued dining. '€1 have heard that, and I have
made arrangements."
A weary-faced woman in a drab black dress entered the
room and stood docilely by the door until Rosero looked
up. Her name was Dulciana. and she was Rodolfo's sister.
All his sisters worked for him. They ran his house.
"Rodolfo, the private line."
No change of expression flickered over Rosero's florid
face. He rose slowly and by sections from his chair. '*Excuse
me for a moment, gentlemen. Refresh your drinks." He
lumbered from the room.
In his private study, he picked up the phone from the
desk and said a single word into it. "St. "
The woman's familiar voice came over the line, coldly
polite and totally devoid of emotion. "They missed."
"What? Damn—
"Don't worry, I have taken care of it." In quick detail
she explained what had been accomplished at Suffolk Gen-
eral Hospital.
"Good, excellent." Rosero was smiling.
"Don't be too hard on them when they get back to La Paz. "
"Felicia. my dear, how long will you cover his mistakes?"
She chuckled, "Until I tire of it, I suppose. Should I
retum to La Paz?"
"No. After a proper time of mourning for your employer.
will work something out for you in Washington. Take care
of yourself. my little viper."
38
"l always do."
NICK CARTER
Rosero hung up and waddled back to his larger office.
He was smiling.




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"No. After a proper time of mourning for your employer.
will work something out for you in Washington. Take care
of yourself. my little viper."
38
"l always do."
NICK CARTER
Rosero hung up and waddled back to his larger office.
He was smiling.
After tonight's shipment, they would need only one more.
'This time it would be big stuff ... tanks, armored personnel
carriers, even a few planes. But then, the two gen-
tlemen in the next room would supply those. And if they
did require some monetary payment, the growers in the
mountains would provide that.











FIVE
Carter felt a tremendous pain around his neck, as if it
were circled with fire. And the burning sensation was even
stronger in his throat. But at least he was getting air into
his lungs. That meant he was still alive, and that was what
mattered.
Slowly the burning subsided and the clamor eased off in
his head. Finally he cracked his eyes and let the light seep
through until he could open them and look around.
Big Felipe had been joined by Number Three, a Shon,
stocky man with a squarish head and a stupid expression
on his face. His black hair hung in strings down his head,
even over his eyes.
The two of them were drinking coffee from a thermos
and talking in low tones. Pando had been pulled to one side
of the shack and lay propped against the wall by the door.
He looked like a man who had become very tired and had
just decided to sit down and rest.
Caner closed his eyes again and listened to the mumbled
conversation. He could only catch words and bits of frag-
ments. The "Charcas Man" and "Mercado" were mentioned
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NICK CARTER
several times, as well as '*revolution." He learned that the
third man's name was Emilio, and that if he didn't stop
chewing so many leaves, he wasn't going to be much help
getting the hard stuff back down the mountain to Guyon.
The Killmaster made mental notes of all of it, and went
back to work on the ropes binding his wrists.
Finally, Felipe checked his watch and stood. "Five min-
utes. Let's get the sleds over to the helicopter pad."
"What about him?"
"You heard •em. He goes back in the chopper. The Char-
cas Man wants him himself. Doesn't make any difference
to me. He dies here or in La Paz. Let's go."
They left.
Carter felt for the sharp brad and went to work on the
rope with a vengeance, A minute later he had his bloody
hands in front of him, rubbing the circulation back into
them. It didn't take long to remove the noose from his neck,
but it seemed to take forever to untangle the series of knots
that bound his ankles. His fingers were stiff, and slippery
with blood, but finally the last knot was undone and he was
able to test his legs. His ankles felt as if they had turned to
stone, and it was another few moments before he could trust
his full weight to them.
At the same time, he kept his ears cocked to the sounds
of his captors as they worked outside.
Then, far in the distance, he heard the sound of a chopper
droning over the mountains. Carter rushed to the crack in
the door. Felipe and Emilio were standing by the helicopter
pad. Even as he watched, Felipe was gesturing toward the
shack and Emilio was nodding.
Then Emilio drew a revolver from his belt and moved
Carter's way. There was little doubt why: he was coming
to take the Killmaster out to the pad.
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Quickly, Caner bent over Pando's body and searched for
some kind of weapon. Felipe had taken no chances. The
body was stripped clean.
Carter didn't hesitate. In seconds he stripped the fleece-
lined jacket and blue shirt from the corpse. When his own
shirt was on Pando, he dragged the body across to the
workbench and arranged it with the arms back behind the
legs. Emilio would spot the switch halfway across the shack,
but by then, hopefully, it would be tcx» late.
Carter took Pando's position on the floor by the door and
waited.
The gun was a 9mm Beretta, Emilio held it in his right
hand as he came through the door. Carter was on his left.
Halfway to Pando's body in Carter's shirt, Emilio stopped,
perplexed.
Realization hit him and he was tuming when Carter caught
him between the shoulder blades with both clenched fists.
He fell forward across the workbench, and Carter grabbed
the gun arm, Viciously, he slammed it against the bench
and the Beretta skittered across the floor.
Emilio cursed and slammed Carter in the side of the head
with his left fist. It landed hard and Carter staggered. releas-
ing his hold on the right arm. Emilio dived for the gun.
Carter beat him by a hair, clamped his ten fingers around
a wrist, and spun him into the wall.
Carter had thirty pounds on the smaller man, but Emilio
was street wise, a gutter fighter. He faked a roundhouse
right and went for Carter's crotch with his knee. The
Killmmster used it. He sidestepped, hooked his arm under
the knee as it came up, and kept it coming. At the same
time. he grabbed the back of Emilio's head with his other
hand and yanked down, hard.
Emilio's own knee mashed his nose into his face, but
42
NICK CARTER
fear overcame pain. He got a headlock on Carter and tried
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fear overcame pain. He got a headlock on Carter and tried
to bash his face. A hard right to the gut that, and
Carter was free.
He kept working on the gut, four quick punches. Emilio
staggered to the center of the shack and fell.
He rolled up, bringing his head from side to side and
clutching his t*lly as Carter moved in. He tried to lunge,
throwing a punch. Carter took the shot and fired back with
both hands. The short, punishing blows hamrnered Emilio
backward.
So far it was working out perfectly. If his luck held, he
could keep Emilio alive. The beating he was taking would
mess him up, but he would live to be the talking prisoner
they needed.
He followed, digging a left to the bodys bringing the
same fist up to jolt the head, banging away with a long right
as Emilio ran clumsily backward and sat down. There was
blood running like a gusher from his nose and his mouth,
and he was out cold.
Outside, Carter heard running footsteps. He dived for the
Beretta. rolled to his belly, and aimed at the doorway. Felipe
charged through, both hands on the Uzi.
"Drop it," Carter growled, "or 1411 kill you where you
stand."
Felipe was no dummy. He could bring the muzzle of the
Uzi up, but he knew that before he could fire, Carter would
put three 9mm slugs in his-chest.
Slowly, the Uzi slipped until he held it only by the sling.
"Drop it . . . and step back."
He did. cursing under his breath. The Killmaster got the
Uzi. slung it over his shoulder, and motioned with the Be-
retta.
'*Belly down, arms straight out, spread. Legs the same
Carter stepped over Emilio's sprawled body. He kept the
BOLIVIAN HEAT
43
Beretta centered on Felipe's back, ready to shoot if the man
twitched a finger.
Carter put one foot on the back of Felipe's neck and bent
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retta.
'*Belly down, arms straight out, spread. Legs the same
Carter stepped over Emilio's sprawled body. He kept the
BOLIVIAN HEAT
43
Beretta centered on Felipe's back, ready to shoot if the man
twitched a finger.
Carter put one foot on the back of Felipe's neck and bent
down to go through his pockets.
'Ihe search produced another gun, a short-barreled .357
Magnum, slung in a trick holster on his belt.
Most of the remaining items were the commonplace trivia
one expects to find on a man; a brown plastic comb, half
a pack of cigarettes, three books of matches advertising a
brand of coffee—two with matches tom out—and a clean
white monogrammed handkerchief. He also carried a cheap
ballpoint pen, slightly over two hundred dollars in cash
folded in a money clip with a US. silver dollar soldered to
it, and a small leather case containing a dozen cartridges
for the Magnum.
No identification. It figured, Carter thought, getting to
his feet.
Suddenly he felt a jarring blow in the center of his back.
It threw him forward. Out of the comer of his eye he saw
Emilio. The man had come around and planted a boot in
Carter's back. At the same time, Felipe was coming off the
floor.
Carter stumbled. Felipe's hands came up, the fingers curl-
ing around the barrels of the two guns Carter held. Emilio
was lunging at him again from the rear.
Carter had no choice.
He fired both the Beretta and the Magnum. The slugs
tore into Felipe's body. Carter released the guns, crouched,
and whirled.
Emilio went for Carter's eyes. The Killmaster avoided
the gouging fingers and used the heel of his hand. It lifted
Emilio's head and snapped his teeth together hard. When
the head went back, Carter used the vee of thumb and




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orefinger to knife into the exposed throat.
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NICK CARTER
"Shit," Carter hissed.
The second the blow landed. he knew he had misjudged.
Emilio gagged once and fell at Carter's feet, dead, his
windpipe crushed.
Outside, Carter could hear the helicopter landing.
Norm Best had told Gordo he couldn't even help with
the transfer of the arms. His stomach was on fire. He had
gone to the hangar office and sprawled on a cot.
Gordo had shrugged, but Best sensed that something
wasn't right. It was in the way the man had refused to look
at him. Also, during the transfer, one of the workers had
broken off three times and passed the office, glancing in,
checking on him.
When the helicopter took off, Best rolled from the cot
and padded to the window. The Baron had t:æen rolled
around and towed to the open hangar doors.
Gordo stood near it, talking to the other two men who
had shifted the arrns.
One was a thin man about six feet one, with a hooked
nose that jutted out from his face like a knife blade. He had
a bald head and a scar that ran outside his left eye to his
chin. The second man was inches shorter but almost twice
as wide. He had a build like a gorilla, complete with arms
that hung almost to mid-thigh. The arms ended in hands
like catchers' mitts. In one of them he held a long crescent
wrench, idly hitting it into the palm of the other hand.
He kept nodding and glancing toward the office as Gordo
talked. When the gorilla broke off and headed toward the
office, Best somehow knew.
They've been tipped. They know.
Frantically, Best went through the desk. He found a foot-
long hunk of raw steel someone had commandeered for a
paperweight, and ran back to the cot.
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Seconds •later, through slitted eyes, he saw the gorilla
tppear in the doorway.
The powerful man just stood there staring. If Best hadn't
guessed they were on to him before, he knew it now, He
had never seen so much pure hatred in a man's face. It
wasn't violent rage, just pure cold hate.
'Then he was moving. Best the hunk of steel,
tensing his whole body. When the big man was two steps
from the cot and raising the wrench, Best uncoiled.
The steel caught him just at the point where his neck
sloped out to join his shoulder. It was a sure blow, and Best
could feel the impact jar through his own arm.
The wrench flew from the man's hand and he toppled
like a felled steer. Best made sure with a second blow to
the back of the neck as he went down.
Best ran to the window to check on Gordo and the thin
one. They had moved to a car about a hundred yards from
the hangar. Sitting on the hood, they smoked and stared at
the night sky, probably waiting for the gorilla to come out
to tell them that Best's head was bashed in.
Best ran low as fast as he could and climbed up into the
Baron on the far side of the two men.
Quickly, he checked everything and prepared to roll the
starboard engine. He would hit the port while moving.
The prop spun, the engine sputtered, and when it caught,
Best rammed the throttle forward.
Gordo and the thin man were running toward the plane,
tugging automatics from their belts. Best tapped the rudder
with his right foot and the whirling prop swung their way,
As one, they dived clear. and the Baron was free of the
hangar.
He fired up the port engine and increased his speed. He
turned onto the taxiway and continued to accelerate.
To his left he saw a single-engine Cherokee heading out
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NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
toward the runway. They were on a collision course and
the Cherokee wouldn't be intimidated. Behind him, Best
could see Gordo and the thin man piling into the car.
Suddenly Cherokee simply stopped on the concrete
in front of him. Best was forced to swerve across the grass
between taxiway and runway. The airplane on the
uneven turf. He frantically moved the controls to miss the
foot-high light standards that lined the edge of the cement.
He concentrated on other obstacles and the business of get-
ting the airplane into the air.
With a bump, the Baron was off the grass and angling
laterally across the runway. Best looked at his airspeed
indicator and didn't try to slow the plane to tum it down
the runway. Instead, just before it would have hit the grass
on the other side, he dropped his flaps eighty degrees. He
had deliberately delayed moving his flaps from neutral dur-
ing his wild takeoff roll to keep his acceleration rate as high
as
As the flaps dropped into places the needle on the airspeed
indicator told him the airplane was just ready to fly. He
pulled gently backward on the control column and almost
simultaneously retracted his landing gear.
The gear began to fold as the plane left the ground. The
angle of his frantic dash across the field had taken him
diagonally over the runway and directly toward more parked
aircraft. Buildings were also in his path, but he knew the
high flap setting and relatively low forward speed would
permit the plane to balloon upward and over them. At least,
that's what he hoped.
As the landing gear folded into place and his speed in-
creased, Best banked the Baron over the last obstacle and
back into the line of traffic. He brought his flaps back to
neutral, trimmed the plane for level flight, and adjusted the
engines for a speed that put his instruments slightly in the
BOLIVIAN HEAT
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creased, Best banked the Baron over the last obstacle and
back into the line of traffic. He brought his flaps back to
neutral, trimmed the plane for level flight, and adjusted the
engines for a speed that put his instruments slightly in the
BOLIVIAN HEAT
47
red. He would stay as close to the ground as possible at
maximum speed, trying for the delicate line between strain-
ing the engines and abusing them.
He darted like a fleeing chipmunk through gorges and
ravines until it was safe to climb.
I He didn't breathe until he was over the peaks and
engines were humming contentedly. Then he banked west
and headed for the ocean.
He had made it, but only because he had sensed something
wrong.
For a brief second he thought about the poor bastard up
in the mountains.
Whoever he was, he probably wouldn't know what hit
him.











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SIX
The noise of the helicopter was much louder now, directly
overhead. Carter had left the light on, the door open, and
Emilio's corpse propped up in the doorway.
Carter moved to the edge of the door. Cautiously, he
risked a look around the frame, and made out the shadowy
outline of the helicopter as it settled down on the pad. He
couldn't think of any way to get out of the lighted shack
without being seen, and figured they'd be suspicious if the
light went out. So he had already decided to wait inside the
shack and play the situation by ear.
He crouched beside the door just behind Emilio's slouch-
ing corpse. with the Beretta and the Magnum ready. Some-
where out there, his own gear was probably stashed, but
there had been no time to look for it.
This would be his last chance. He'd had his chance at
three, and had to kill all of them. Whoever was delivering
the guns in the chopper for the dope stacked now by the
landing pad would be his last chance for a prisoner.
He had two basic reasons for being there: kill the arms
50
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deal. and get a prisoner. So far, not a hell of a lot had been
accomplished.
The roar of the helicopter's engine suddenly quit and all
he could hear was the slowing chirp of the rotor. A minute
passed before he heard a voice call out. He couldn't make
out what was said, but it was a man's voice and it sounded
close. A second or two later he heard the man call out again.
He figured that whoever it was would expect an answer,
so he stood up and moved close to the door.
Pressing down on the bridge of his nose with thumb and
forefinger. he pitched his voice in what he hoped was a
reasonable approximation of Pando. ' 'Come in and give us
a hand!" Then he flattened himself against the wall and held
his breath.
He tensed when he heard the crunch of shoes on the
ground and a voice just outside the cabin door said, "Christ,
will you get a move on? We have to get back to—
The last words were never uttered because he stepped
through the door at that point and saw the bodies.
He paused for just a second, but it was all the time Carter
needed. He reached out and pulled him into the shack. The
man's head spun to see who had grabbed him, and he found
himself down the cavemous barrel of the big Mag-
num.
the t"
"Step right on inside, and don't do anything rash. Make
a noise and you're dead," the Killmaster hissed, making
sure his knuckle was already showing white on the trigger.
The man did exactly as he was told. Carter tucked the
muzzle of the gun under his chin and relieved him of the
flashlight he was carrying. Next, he ran his hands over him
but found no suspicious bulges that would indicate a handgun
or knife. He was a nondescript little guy in a brown suit.
He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a dirty brown complex-
BOLIVIAN HEAT
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ion. Drop him into any crowd of three or more people and
he'd blend right in. He looked scared out of his wits.
"Answer me quickly," Carter snapped. "Who




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muzzle of the gun under his chin and relieved him of the
flashlight he was carrying. Next, he ran his hands over him
but found no suspicious bulges that would indicate a handgun
or knife. He was a nondescript little guy in a brown suit.
He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a dirty brown complex-
BOLIVIAN HEAT
51
ion. Drop him into any crowd of three or more people and
he'd blend right in. He looked scared out of his wits.
"Answer me quickly," Carter snapped. "Who else is out
there in the chopper?"
The little man's eyes darted, the sure sign of a lie on the
way.
Carter moved closer, the heavy Magnum held loosely in
his hand. He reached out and snapped the barrel down over
the man's collarbone. The little man gasped and went white,
his eyes closing in pain. The Killmaster gave him a few
seconds to get over the worst of it.
"Next time I break it. How many in the chopper?"
The man drew himself up defiantly. "See for yourself,
prick."
"I'll be damned, " Carter hissed. "A big brave hero."
He tapped the collarbone again, this time hard enough to
break it. The man cried out in pain. His eyes rolled back
and went glassy, and more sweat stood out on his face. It
was a good minute before he could and when he did
the voice was hoarse and froggy:
'*Just one."
"An Uzi," he croaked.
"What else?"
"That's it, I swear."
Carter shoved the barrel of the Magnum between the
man's teeth. He waited a few seconds to let him taste the
metal before he spoke.
"Now, you listen to me, you little scum, and you listen
real good. Entiende?"
The man's eyes grew round and he made little choking
sounds, but he managed to nod: he understood.
SAI killed these three already. Killing you would be like
swatting a fly. Got that?"




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oa:ne unuer»
"I killed these three already. Killing you would be like
swatting a fly. Got that?"
52
Another nod.
NICK CARTER
"But you're no good to me dead. Alive, you're just a
nuisance unless you do exactly what 1 say."
Carter gave him a few seconds to think about it. He was
shaking so badly by now that the Killmaster could hear his
teeth chattering against the gun barrel.
"We're going to turn out the light and walk slowly, to-
gether, to the chopper, just as if none of this happened.
You're going to talk to me, call me Emilio, and act like
we're long-lost brothers. Entiende; amigo?'
"I understand," he gasped as Carter pulled the gun from
his mouth.
"That's good. Because if you make one sign, one wrong
move, or say a word of warning, the first slug fired takes
off your head. Let's go,"
"You bastard."
Carter poked the muzzle of the Magnum into the man's
crotch. "You get a count of three before I blow your balls
off for a start. One . .
"Okay, okay!"
"Good. Now lees go." Carter gave him a push toward
the doors. He reached up and snapped out the light before
going through the door, all the time keeping the gun shoved
into the other man's back.
As they started toward the helicopter, Carter snapped on
the flashlight, directing the beam along the ground in front
of them. He figured that anybody would have difficulty
making out anything with the bright glow of the flashlight
shining in his direction.
A couple of times he thought the little guy was going to
collapse, and the second time he raised the gun to the back
of his head and thumbed back the hammer. The oily click
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feet from the machine, Carter could make out the other one
inside. Just a shadowy form, -lit by the soft green glow of
the instrument lights.
He raised the beam of the light until it was shining directly
on the helicopter's canopy and, he hoped, directly into the
eyes of the machine's lone occupant. The light reflected
back from the plastic bubble, rendering the man as difficult
to see as Carter hoped they were.
"Lower the goddamned light, will you?"
The voice sounded peculiar. but Carter had other things
on his mind. They were only a few feet from the chopper
now, and he could see the open door of the cockpit right
in front of them.
The voice again. "What the hell is going on? Are we
making the switch or not!"
Behind the little man, Carter brought the flashlight up in
his right hand. The Beretta in his left he shielded with his
thigh. In one movement he brought the heavy flash down
across the soft part behind the little man's ear and lifted the
Beretta.
"Put your hands on top of your head and get your ass out
of there, nice and easy," Carter hissed. "One move toward
that Uzi and you're dead."
He stepped back as the figure moved, one foot on the
step and then dropping to the ground into the light from the
flash.
"Christ," Carter growled.
She was tall, dressed all in black, and one of the most
beautiful women Carter had ever seen.
It turned out that the little man all in brown was Septi
Bollo. Carter had pried that out of him after he had regained
consciousness. The woman, like the rest of them, had no
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identification on her. In fact, she had nothing on her except
a .32 in the pocket of the black leather jacket.
When Carter had tried to prod something out of her, she
had spit in his face.
He was weary and it would be dawn The hell with
it, he thought; he'd let the interrogators get it out of her.
He had done enough. All he wanted now was to get it over
with, then have a drink. a bath. and some sleep.
He had the woman tie up Bollo, and then he had IRI-formed
the service on her. Then he had checked the goods in the
chopper, and found just what he had expected to find; the
ams were fancy and nothing but the latest designs. The
dope on the sleds and in the packs by the helicopter was
high-grade refined cocaine, bringing probably between three
and four million dollars on the street.
Nice trade, he thought. The hardware goes south to kill
people; the powder goes north and ends up doing the same
thing. And the world keeps going around and around.
His own gear, including the field phone with the range
booster and scrambler channel, was with the d01E,
Now he had the man and woman propped against the
shack far enough away from each other so they couldn't
talk unless they did it loud enough for him to hear.
Bollo was docile. He had already accepted the fact that
he had bought the farm.
The woman was another story, one that Carter couldn't
quite figure.
His earlier assessment of her had been reinforced
on closer insfrction. The hair was long, raven black, and
framed her face to the shoulders in smooth waves. Pure
white teeth gleamed in her dark face through a wild, wide
mouth with sensual lips. A thin, almost classical nose flared
below high cheekbones.
BOLIVIAN HEAT
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But it was her wide-set, hard eyes glaring back at him
that set her apart. They were brown flecked with green




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framed her face to the shoulders in smooth waves. Pure
white teeth gleamed in her dark face through a wild, wide
mouth with sensual lips. A thin, almost classical nose flared
below high cheekbones.
BOLIVIAN HEAT
55
But it was her wide-set, hard eyes glaring back at him
that set her apart. They were brown flecked with green
around the irises. Carter stared into them and felt as if he
were staring at a hungry tiger about to attack,
"Who the hell are you?" she suddenly asked in a low
voice, surprising him.
"l asked you the same question."
"Whoever you are, you're going to regret this. You've
got an eI norte accent. American?"
"Citizen of the world," Carter growled, and walked to
the chopper where he had dumped his gear.
He snapped on the power from the battery pack, let it
boost. and when he got a signal, fine tuned the frequency.
This done, he put the phones on his head and the hand
microphone close to his lips.
"Lookout, this is Tiptop .. , Tiptop calling Lookout, are
you there? Over."
"This is Lookout, Tiptop, read you loud and clear. Will
copy. Over."
"I have base. Repeat, I have base. Hard stuff and soft
stuff all accounted for, Over."
"Sounds good, Tiptop. Have you acquired any personnel
in your travels?"
•me voice of Lookout was Cal Reader, a good man, an
agent Carter had worked with many times in the past .
enough times to recognize a tenseness in the tone that
shouldn't be there.
"Roger, Lookout, I have five personnel. Only two active.
Over."
Reader didn't come back. Carter waited for several sec-
onds, and when the phone stayed silent he spoke again.
S *Lookout, did you read? I have two active. Over."
"We read. Tiptop. Hang on . . . please."




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okout,
ave two active.
you rea
"We read. Tiptop. Hang on . . . please."
NICK CARTER
56
er.
"Will do." Carter barked, and wondered what was going
on. He lit a cigarette and waited, and waited. When it was
down to a butt; he flipped it away in disgust. "Lookout,
I'm in outer space up here. What the hell is going on? Over!"
"Tiptop, this is Lookout. Hang on to your ass, we'll get
back to you."
Carter blinked. Something was definitely wrong. Instead
of the last voice being Cal Reader, it was David Hawk
himself.
"Roger, Lookout," he said, lighting another cigarette and
counting stars.
It was a full five minutes until the radiophone came alive
again. It was still Hawk. and Carter could hear the tenseness
even in his voice.
"Tiptop, concerning your actives . . is one of them a
female? Over."
"Affirmative. Over."
"Very well. We want you to follow these instructions to
the letter. Do you read, Tiptop? Over."
"Loud and clear?' Carter said, not bothering to hide the
disgust in his voice. "Over."
"Do you still have all your gear? Over."
"That's affirmative. Over."
"Good, We want you to hypo the male active, repeat,
hypo the male active. When he is out, you are to release
the female. Over."
Carter punched the mike button and almost screamed,
but held himself in check for a full ten seconds before
coming back. "Release the female active? Over!"
'That is correct, Tiptop, and as fast as possible. Over,"
"What about the hard stuff?" Carter asked through
clenched teeth, "It's still in the machine. Does she breeze
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"She does, It is almost oh-five hundred. We are picking
up you, the goods, and the personnel at oh-six-five. Do you
read? Over."
"Affirmative, Lookout. Over."
"Lookout out, Tiptop."
"Shity" Carter cursed, and slammed the radio gear to the
ground.
Still cursing, he got one of the syringes from his pack
and moved toward the shack and Bollo,
"'Que pase, amigo? What the hell's going on here? What's
that thing for, man? What are you—
"Shut up, Bollo," Carter said, yanking the sleeve of the
man's jacket up and ramming the needle into his arm right
through his shirt. "Buenos noches. "
It took only a few seconds. The eyes drooped, the head
sagged, and he was out.
Carter, unlimbering the commando knife, crossed to the
woman and cut her free. "Get your ass out of here."
She stood, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists.
"What are you? Drug enforcement? Customs? CIA?"
"I'm an elf from the Black Forest. Move, while you still
can."
She shrugged, walked a few steps, and turned, the white
teeth gleaming in her face. It wasn't much of a smile, more
like a satisfied leer. "l said you'd be sorry."
Carter stared stonily at her until she tumed away, The
engine caught, the chopper lifted off, tilted, and headed
Carter could swear she wiggled the tail at him.
He dragged the bodies, living and dead, near the pad,
assembled his own gear, and sat brooding until the two big
cargo choppers droned in and landed. He waited until every-
thing was loaded, then he crawled into the lead chopper and
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settled into the right-hand seat. As soon as he was buckled
in, he rummaged in his pack for a flask.
fie pilot, a cocky youngster with a wide grin, gave him
the thumbs-up sign and shouted overthe noise, "Good show,
man! You did one hell of a job!"
"Yeah," Carter grunted, and tipped the flask to his lips.
Rodolfo . . . wake up, my brother . .
"Rodolfo ..
Rosero forced his piggish eyes to open and stare up at
his sister. "What time is it?"
"Nearly seven."
"Dammit, woman, I have been asleep for only two hours.
What—
"It is Sehor Mercado, Rodolfo. He says it is very impor-
tant, an emergency."
"Very well. get out." Rosero's stomach growled as he
used the special bars beside the bed to hoist himself to a
sitting position. After a struggle, he managed to edge his
obese bulk to the side and swing his feet to the floor.
He eyed the small refrigerator he kept well stocked by
his bed. and reached for the phone, "Yes. Emmanuel. what
the hell is it at this hour?"
"The shipment, amigo, " came the familiar, guttural
growl. "We have problems."
'*What about it?" Rosero was instantly alert and awake.
"Gordo just called from Apolo. The woman came up on
the emergency scrambler channel with a Mayday, It was
acknowledged, but her radio went dead."
"Damn! Did they get a fix?"
"No, and I have tried to get in touch with Felipe. There
has been no answer from the mountain. and my lookouts
haven't spotted them coming in with the arms. They are
overdue, amigo, much overdue."
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"Christ! What did the Americans have up there, an army?





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"Christ! What did the Americans have up there, an army?
You said they spotted one man jumping from an airplane.
Couldn't your brave warriors handle one man?"
"Yes, there was only one man, I am sure of it. If he took
out Felipe and the others, he is a one-man army."
I Rosero flung open the refrigerator door and grabbed a
turkey leg. He gnawed as he thought.
"How soon can you refine a new batch if we have lost
the shipment?"
"Six, mayt* five weeks." Mercado replied.
"That is too long, We need one more big shipment of
light arms to move, and we have to move fast."
"I have not talked to Pepe in Mexico City, but if he does
not get his powder or cash on this shipment. I don't think
he will send another on credit."
"Call him!" Rosero roared. '*Tell him that the Charcas
Man will guarantee payment on this shipment even if it is
lost
will try, amigo."
"And we should have a face-to-face meet, tonight."
'On the lake place, midnight."
"I will be there, Rodolfo," Mercado replied. ' enere is
one other thing. The turncoat pilot, Best. He escaped at the
airport."
Rosero's hands shook. His face became the color of his
florid, red pajamas, He could feel his heart erupting through
the mass of flesh that was his chest.
At last he managed to scream, "Mother of God, can't
your putas do anything right?'"
Rosero slammed the phone down. Dulciana appeared in
the doorway.
"You have troubles, my brother?"
60
NICK CARTER
"None of your business. you crone."
"Yes, my brother. Will you be getting up now?"
"Yes. Fix my breakfast, and be quick about it!"




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osero s amme
the doorway.
"You have troubles, my brother?"
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NICK CARTER
"None of your business. you crone."
"Yes, my brother. Will you be getting up now?"
"Yes. Fix my breakfast, and be quick about it!"
"Sit my brother."
The bent, forty-nine-year-old woman who lcx)ked sixty-
nine tumed and exited the room before the fat man on the
bed could see the smirking smile of satisfaction on her face.
Rosero threw the meatless bone on the grabbed
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SEVEN
The small villa seemed to be pasted to the side of the
I mountain. It overlooked a wide beach and the blue waters
of the Pacific rushing into Acapulco Bay. Thick, tropical
landscaping insured privacy, shade, and beauty to an area
that rarely knew a single hour of the year too cool for a
bathing suit.
Norm Best would miss it. He had bought the villa two
years before under a false name. Now it was sold. He had
nearly a half million in the Vancouver bank. That, and a
new identity to make a little on the side now and then, and
he would do fine up north.
It had been four days since the wild plane ride back from
Bolivia, and he had been holed up in the villa ever since.
Now he was impatient to get going. But he would have to
wait another week. He wanted the trail cold before he hit
an airport or any other means of transportation.
Best raised the glass to his lips, and for the third morning
in a row watched the woman come out of the water, She
was wearing a white bathing suit that caressed her body like
a second skin. Her high, full breasts, tiny waist. and slim
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yet generous hips seemed carved from dark marble.
He felt the weeks of abstinence tug at his groin as he
watched her slowly remove her bathing cap. Glossy black
hair tumbled over her shoulders. She stretched out on the
blanket and unfastened her bikini top.
Best swallowed. He knew what would happen next. She
did the same thing every morning. Arrive at nine, drop her
things on the beach, and swim for an hour. Then she would
sun for two hours, grab another short swim, gather her
things, get in her car. and drive away.
The top fell away and her breasts stayed. full. firm. the
nipples erect.
God. Best thought, another week holed up in here?
He smashed his glass into the fireplace, grabbed his
sunglasses, and headed for the beach.
"Hello."
She looked, then raised herself up on one elbow and.
oblivious to her bare breasts dancing in the sunlight, shielded
her eyes with one hand.
"Hello."
live up there," Best said with a smile, nodding toward
the villa, "I've been watching you every morning."
know." She smiled back.
"You're a beautiful woman."
The smile became electric. "I know that as well. So?"
"So, how about lunch?"
"I'm not at my best in the middle of the day."
have an appointment."
The smile egged him on. "Drinks. later?"
"All right." She stood, brushed the sand from her jutting
breasts, and put the top back on. "Ten?"
STen is fine/' Best replied, seeing in her eyes that the
evening was already a winner.
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Hundreds of miles south, near Punta Coles, Peru, Nick
Carter had also been holed up for four days.
After landing in the chopper, he had been checked out
by a doctor and taken to a room where he was debriefed.
Then Ginger Bateman had driven him to a small airport and
Lear jet,
"What the hell is going on?" he had demanded.
"I don't know . at least not all of it. All I know is we
have problems."
"Where am I going?"
"A safe house near Punta Coles."
"And just where is that?"
"Peru," she said, and that was it.
So for four days Carter had slept, ate, smoked, cursed,
and paced. Now they had come at last: David Hawk, Ginger
Bateman, Hawk's ever-present two bodyguards, and a man
Hawk briefly introduced as Carmine Calvos.
Calvos was in his late fifties, of medium height, rather
well filled out but not fat. Even though it was hot. he wore
a well-tailored dark blue suit and a striped tie with the knot
slightly off center. His face was dark, squarish but not
unpleasant, with black eyebrows and a heavy dark mustache.
Carter took one look at him and smelled cop. He gave
Carter a look of disgust.
The Killmaster was chomping at the bit for some answers,
but he held his tongue as the party moved out to the deck
and arranged themselves as if it were Sunday afternoon and
no one had a care in the world.
Hawk cleared his throat and spoke. "Nick. we screwed
up."
"Oh? How so?" Carter replied blandly, glancing once at
the dark man and figuring he could speak freely since Hawk
had started it off with the man there, '*We got our prisoner.
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NICK CARTER
We got the dope, even though we gave the guns away."
"We didn't give the guns away. What was left of them
was salvaged from the wreck of the helicopter near Sorata,




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up.
"Oh? How so?" Carter replied blandly, glancing once at
the dark man and figuring he could speak freely since Hawk
had started it off with the man there, '*We got our prisoner.
64
NICK CARTER
We got the dope, even though we gave the guns away."
"We didn't give the guns away. What was left of them
was salvaged from the wreck of the helicopter near Sorata,
about twenty-five miles out of Apolo."
Carter leaned back and smiled. "So the bitch didn't make
it after all."
The three of them—Ginger, Hawk, and Calvos—ex-
changed wary glances. Hawk coughed. Calvos squeezed his
fingers into white knuckles, and Ginger picked up the ex-
planation.
"As you know. Nick, we kept this operation quiet and to
ourselves. That's very risky, since we were on
foreign soil."
"So?" Carter shrugged. "We had Benito Coronado behind
us. Hell, it was his tip and he gave it to us because his own
people wouldn't move off their butts."
Again Hawk coughed. 'Ihis time it sounded like a warn-
ing. "Nick, Benito Coronado is dead. He and his chauffeur
were machine-gunned in their car on Long Island. Coronado
lived. but he was assassinated a few hours later in his hospital
room."
Caner paled a little and hid it with his cigarette. "So they
did have it nailed."
Hawk nodded. "Coronado probably slipped up some-
where along the line and tipped them. Either that, or the
pilot doubled and tipped them himself. It could have been
that. The Baron he used got back to Mexico and he's disap-
peared. We're trying to find him now. We may have a
couple of leads."
"What about the chopper pilot, the woman I let go?"
Hawk tumed to the dark man who was staring intently
at Carter. "That's where we screwed up, Nick. Senor Calvos
here is head of Bolivia's antidrug division. It seems they




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here is head of Bolivia's antidrug division. It seems they
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had an operation going for quite a while on this outfit.
The man dropped his hands but didn't avert his eyes.
"The woman you let go, Mr. Carter, is Miguela Obertez.
She is. and has been, one of my best undercover agents for
the last five years."
Carter covered his eyes with one hand and rubbed his
emples.
"We have waited for months to get her into precisely the
position she was in the other evening."
"And now she's blown," Carter groaned.
"Thankfully, no,'" Calvos said, leaning forward and slap-
ping his hands on the table. ' 'Thanks to our discovery that
you had a man in, and your prompt cooperation on the
mountain, we think Miguela has covered herself. Not only
covered herself but perhaps dug herself in even
Carter shrugged, his arms wide, his palms up. '*We're
both lucky. She couldn't know and neither could I."
"Precisely," Calvos said, his hard stare warming a little.
"She side-skidded the chopper, then riddled it with the Uzi
until the explosives went up. She took two days to get back
to her contact, a man named Gordo Martinez. Evidently he
believed her story that she barely got out alive and everyone
else was killed by you."
"And now," David Hawk said, "because we have
apologized to Seöor Calvos and agreed to cooperate in every
way, we may have someone on the inside ourselves."
"Mr. Carter," Calvos went on, "this may have turned out
well after all. Because of what you overheard on the moun-
tain. what Miguela has accumulated, and what we were able
to learn from your prisoner, a larger picture has emerged .
a picture. I would add, that is more destructive to my country
than the cocaine czars."




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Carter poured himself a stiff drink and listened very care-
fully to every word Carmine Calvos said.
He learned of the Charcas, their new organizations power,
and their wealth. He got the background on the bandit-
tumed-Marxist-guerrilla, Emmanuel Mercado. He was
given both facts and theory. One of the theories held that
the Charcas power structure had united with Mercado, and
both of them were either in league with Havana and Moscow,
or they soon would be.
"But as yet." Carter asked, "you have no idea as to the
identity of the one they call the Charcas Man?"
"He could be any one of a dozen influential Bolivian
businessmen or politicians. At one time or another, half the
wealthier class of Bolivia has been connected with the move-
ment."
"What do you think the objective of the guns is?" Carter
asked, already suspecting the answer.
"What else?" Calvos replied with a shrug. "A coup, a
revolution. With obvious wealth and power already—and
dope to give them more—and perhaps now the backing of
the Soviets for grass-roots propaganda and high-tech arms,
God knows how far they can go."
"So," Carter said, "what's the objective?"
Calvos folded his hands and a thin-lipped smile creased
his lips. "Your superior and I have agreed that the best
solution would be to eliminate the three sides of the triangle:
Mercado, of course, their Mexican connection—who may
or may not be this Pepe the Butcher character—and the
Charcas Man himself."
Carter did a little more temple-rubbing and finished his
drink. "Any ideas how we start doing that?"
think," Ginger Bateman said, her arm extended toward
the sea and the sky , "that our ideas are just about to arrive."
The four of them stood and moved to the rail. A small,
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single-engine seaplane was coming in about a mile to the
north and above five hundred yards offshore.
The sun was hot in a clear sky, but a wind had begun to
blow from the southwest, and the force of it across the open
sea piled waves up on the beach. It also raised a little hell
Nith the small plane as the pilot maneuvered lower and
!ower.
At last he hit, skipped twice, and settled just as the hatch
opened and a figure in a dark swimsuit dived into the water.
(he head had scarcely cleared the foam with the arms starting
Into a lazy crawl, when the plane's engine revved and it
was taking off again.
The villa's tiny patch of private sand was covered with
water almost to the walkway: As Carter watched, one of
Hawk's men jogged down the wooden steps.
He just hit the bottom when a woman. long-limbed and
very full figured in a black one-piece suit, stepped out of
the water. She accepted a towel and wrapped it around her
mane of ebony hair as he draped a terry-cloth robe over her
shoulders.
Carter met her at the top of the walkway. "Miguela Ober-
tez. I presume?"
"Ah, El Norte, we meet again," Her eyes weren't stony
now; they seemed full of mischief as they scanned Carter's
tanned, powerful body in his swim trunks. "But I'm afraid
you still have the advantage."
"Carter, Nick Carter. What would you like to drink?"
"Beer. "
Carter smiled. He liked her better already.
Norm Best heard the car and moved quickly to the door.
She was just coming up from the lower level walk when he
opened it.
"Beautiful," he said.
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NICK CARTER
And she was. His mouth watered at the almost impercep-
tible sway of her hips, the sensuous movement of her unfet-
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Norm Best heard the car and moved quickly to the door.
She was just coming up from the lower level walk when he
opened it.
"Beautiful," he said.
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NICK CARTER
And she was. His mouth watered at the almost impercep-
tible sway of her hips, the sensuous movement of her unfet-
tered breasts under her dress, which was of white lace and
strapless. A white mantilla, caught up in her raven hair,
cascaded across her lovely, deeply tanned shoulders. Her
features were delicate, piquant. A narrow straight nose,
large dark eyes, thin, arched brows. Her cheekbones were
just a trifle prominent, her mouth sweet, warm .
"Please come in."
"Thank you," she said. passing him and stepping down
into the large, tile-floored living room.
Best checked himself in the hall mirror. He was wearing
white shoes, white socks, white slacks, and a white silk
open-necked shirt that exposed his broad, bronzed chest,
Liking what he saw, he followed her.
"You know I don't even know your name."
"Nor I yours."
He gave her the alias he had used to buy the house.
"Juanita Chavez," she replied with a straight face. It
wasn't a complete lie. Once, long ago in another life, she
had been Juanita Chavez.
"A little drink, perhaps?"
"A large drink perhaps." she said with a smile, removing
the mantilla. "Like a gin and tonic in a tall glass with a lot
of ice."
"Fine. Let me take those," He reached for her purse and
the mantilla.
"No, CII just put them here."
"Of course."
She went to an overstuffed easy chair. sank into it. and
crossed her legs, keeping the purse on her lap. He looked
at her legs, smacked his lips, then went behind a long marble-
topped bar. She opened her purse, took out a cigarette, lit
it with a little lipstick-shaped butane lighter, and dropped




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topped bar. She opened her purse, took out a cigarette, lit
it with a little lipstick-shaped butane lighter, and dropped
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the lighter back but did not shut the purse, She smoked and
tooked around the beautiful room.
It was a beautiful room, expensively done by an expensive
'Jecorator. This room, the living room, had pale yellow
walls, a tile floor the color of caramel, and comfortable
fuyniture upholstered in a striking gold and white design.
Pre-Colombian ceramic figures sat in niches in the wall
highlighted by pinspots from track lighting.
Best came out from behind the bar with two glasses, each
a tall gin and tonic. He gave one to her, bowed, and took
his to a matching easy chair. He sat facing her.
She tapped out her cigarette and sipped the drink. "Ah,
"Okay," Best said, "let's get the ball rolling here."
She looked up, all innocence. "What ball do we have to
. lots
like chat. get to know each other better .
better." His eyes fell to her breasts and stayed there,
"I'm twenty-eight years old."
"I'm forty-two. Do you mind?"
"Not particularly. Older men are more experienced .
in most things." She drank a lot of her drink and set it down.
"Do you have servants?"
His eyes dropped to her legs. "No."
"l might have a problem with my . , . ah, boyfriend. I
hope you didn't tell your neighbors that you were entertain-
ing the girl on the beach tonight."
Best ran his hand up and down his own thigh. "l don't
know my neighbors."
"Good," Her smile was dazzling.
"What do you do. Juanita?"
"Among other things, I kill people."
The Obregon .45 automatic she took from her purse was
without serial numbers. It had been stolen two months earlier




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NICK CARTER
in Mexico City. She raised it, steadied it with both hands,
and emptied the seven-shot magazine in one staccato burst.
Two of the bullets went wild, but the other five wove a
nice horizontal pattern across his broad chest. Blood spoiled
his white outfit. His eyes looked so innocently surprised
before they turned upward. Then the glass fell out of his
hand, and then he fell out of the chair and lay grotesquely
on the floor, little geysers of blood spurting out of him.
She sat, looking at him.
Then she stopped looking at him.
She put the gun in her purse and took out a pair of surgical
gloves and a handkerchief. Then she did the thing she had
yearned to do since his eyes had started undressing her. She
poured the remainder of her gin and tonic over his dead
face. Then she wiped her fingerprints from her glass, carried
it to the bathroom, and smashed it into the bathtub.
She pulled on the gloves and methodically ransacked the
villa, taking all the cash she could find and the Bolivian
passport, as well as the bankbooks on the bank in Vancouver.
The bankbooks also had transfer codes that could be used
to shift money by phone. She was not above gleaning an
extra dollar or two for the night's work.
"Ihen she left the villa. letting the door swing shut on its
snap-lock.
In the car, she drove the twenty-odd miles north to
Acapulco on the coast highway, and parked in the basement
garage of a high-rise condo complex that was no different
from a dozen others along the beach. The penthouse of this
particular building happened to belong to Altos, Ltd. , which
was a subsidiary of another, larger company. which was
yet another subsidiary. All of them. if they could be traced,
were owned by one Rodolfo Rosero.
Taking the elevator to the top floor, she let herself into
the lavish apartment and kicked off her shoes. She poured
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herself a brandy and put the Obregon .45 in a small wall safe.
A glance at the wall clock told her that there was plenty
of time.
In her bedroom, she slipped out of her dress. She wore
no underwear beneath it except pantyhose. These she peeled
pff as she admired her nude body in a mirror.
Must get back to my exercises, she thought, all this easy
life is starting to show.
In the bathroom she washed her teeth, rinsed and gargled,
went into the shower, and turned the water on hard.
With her body scrubbed clean and tingling, she closed
the faucets, stepped from the stall and toweled briskly. She
in fact, sexy, and in the bedroom touched
felt good
perfume to her body.
Only then did she pick up the phone to call La Paz.









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EIGHT
The phony crash had worked. Her contact, Gordo Mar-
tinez, had swallowed it all. The clincher had been Carmine
Calvos's leak to the press about the downed helicopter and
the mystery surrounding its missing occupant or occupants.
Miguela had been told to lose herself for several days but
stay in close touch. Evidently, Mercado and the Charcas
Man had studied the situation and were coming up with a
solution.
On AXE's end, little men were running all over Mexico
and South America, putting a pattern to the information
they did have.
David Hawk and Ginger Bateman had returned to
Washington. Carmine Calvos had gone back to La Paz.
Carter and Miguela had stayed on ice at the oceanside villa.
Carter didn't mind. If he had to stay cooped up until
something broke, at least it was better to be COOEkd up with
a beautiful woman.
Hawk, Bateman. and Calvos had left late the evening of
Miguela's arrival. It was now the next afternoon. and Carter
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and Miguela were lying side by side on the narrow strip of
beach.
So far, the only conversation between them had been
business, bouncing around ideas. and Carter was willing to
let it remain that way.
She wore the same black, figure-hugging bathing suit he
had first seen her in. and lay sunning herself on the sand
with a straw beach hat over her face to shield her face from
the sun. When he spoke to her, she removed the hat long
enough to answers then put it back so that it hid her face
again. It was not a gesture of rudeness; she was pleasant
enough, and the hot sun made her use of the hat understand-
able. But she withdrew behind its wide brim as effectively
as if it had been a door closed between them.
"When are you due to check in again?"
"This evening at seven."
"What's your guess?" Carter asked. He had been trying
to get her to make an opinion on just what part she would
have in the organization's scheme. To Carter, this was im-
portant. If she wasn't taking Best's place, or another job
deeper in. Caner would have to stan digging alone. So far
she had been noncommittal.
Probably, he thought, because she was thinking the same
way.
The hat kept him from seeing her expression. She took
so long to answer that he thought she was ignoring the
question again.
At last she spoke, "Gordo Martinez let it slip that time
is a problem. They can't wait the weeks it will take to refine
another shiprnent of powder to deal for arms. Correct?"
Carter nodded. S That's what you've already said."
The hat came off. "I think they'll try to sniffout somebody
else's shipment and hijack it."
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Carter mulled this over. "If that is the case, you'll be the
one to fly it in."
She smiled brightly. "You're one smart man, amigo. "
"And maybe I could manufacture the hijack."
She frowned, then nodded. "That would make things a
simpler."
Carter brushed her cheek with his lips. "We'll think on
It." He lay back and shielded his eyes from the sun. In
fifteen minutes he knew what he was going to do.
"Where are you going?"
"House. I'm making a phone call."
"I've had enough sun too," Miguela said, gathering the
towels and trotting by his side.
He chuckled. "You just want to listen in."
"You're right," she admitted, sliding her arm through his.
No doubt about it, Caner thought, the ice was melting
between them.
"So at least it's one theory, Ginger. Have the DEA boys
nail me down the bank who's handling Mexico City. If this
Pepe's as big as we think, they'll know who is handling his
payoffs and investments. It doesn't matter where the bank
is—Miami, Dallas, San Diego, New York—just get me a
name. I'll do the rest."
Ginger agreed to get right on it and get back to him.
Carter hung up and turned to Miguela.
"It's a long shot," she said, frowning.
"Yeahs but if it works it will make you very popular with
them."
She shrugged. "Sounds good. 19m going to take a shower."
She headed for her bedroom.
"Me, too."
Carter built a drink and headed for his own shower.
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Twenty minutes later he walked back into the room with a




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NICK CARTER
Twenty minutes later he walked back into the room with a
towel draped around his middle.
"Your body is in great sharr, but so many scars .
She was sitting up in Carter's bed, sipping a drink. Her
shoulders were framed in a frothy blue-gray negligee, part
of the wardrobe Calvos had brought for her in two large
bags. Her hair, still wet, was curling around her face.
"Is this visit business or pleasure?"
She set aside the glass and slid from the bed. She came
to him in a single movement, fitting her body to his with a
raw and panting urgency. The damp raven hair was against
his cheek. highs full breasts cushioned to his bare chest.
Her mouth, when he kissed her, was hot. Her lips and
tongue were searing and drew back only for a breath after
her teeth had met his tongue demandingly.
"Does that answer your question, El Norte?" she mur-
mured.
Carter pulled the tie between her breasts and gentiy pushed
the gown down her body until it lay in a cloudlike pile at
her feet. He reached for her.
."Wait . . ."
She stepped back to let him see her. She knew what the
sight of her body did to men, and she loved it, especially
when the man was one she wanted to impress. She wanted
him unclothed, too, but that could wait. First she wanted
to show herself to him. She knew from experience that the
sight would thrill him, and she took nearly as much pleasure
from seeing the delight in his face as he did from looking
at her.
Carter stared. He had known what to expect from the
way she filled her bathing suit, but the incredible symmetry
of her nude body was even more provocative than he had
imagined it. Her full, rounded breasts and light brown skin,
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smooth and perfectly unblemished, were an unbelievable
ombination of feminine beauty.
She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side as a





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way she filled her bathing suit, but the incredible symmetry
of her nude body was even more provocative than he had
imagined it. Her full, rounded breasts and light brown skin,
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smooth and perfectly unblemished, were an unbelievable
ombination of feminine beauty.
She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side as a
ray of sunlight from the window buried bits of gold in the
.jark wealth of her hair. "Now you," she said huskily.
He dropped the towel. and her eyes their time devour-
ing his body before they came back to meet his.
"Now," she whispered.
He lifted her and moved to the bed. As they settled, she
clung to him. He kissed her once, and then again, very
Oghtly. Her head came up, her eyes closed, tiny sounds
bubbling in her throat.
He kissed the line of her jaw, her cheek, then touched
her lips with his own, rimming her mouth gently. She was
silk. Her fingers slid down his neck and traced little lines
on his face. Trembling, she returned his kisses.
He was seized with desire. Their breathing quickened.
He rubbed his hands against her neck. She brought his hand
to her mouth, kissed it, and bit it gently.
The room had gone still except for their rapid breathing.
Slowly. they began caressing each other. Her body was
exquisite: the breasts full and rising, the legs long, the thighs
smooth, the arms curling, the hair fragrant. When he put
his hand between her thighs it basked in heat. She touched
him, moaned when he entered her, and then they were
caught in each other's passion.
They rose and fell in unison, she uttering little sounds,
her back arching slowly, higher with each thrust.
Then she was on top of him, pushing him down on his
back. She was all over him, biting softly, kissing. He tasted
her as they rolled over. She brought her pelvis up to meet
him, her large, luminous eyes staring up at him, her mouth
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NICK CARTER
breath. For a long time they rocked back and forth, in and
out. Then she began to twist under him.
ney were on their sides for a while and then she mounted
him and brought her knees up until they pressed against his
forearms. She shifted the tempo, slowing it. Her eyelids
started to flutter. Her movements became slow, deliberate.
She began to contract around him like a great velvet clamp.
They burst together and rolled to their sides, still caressing
one another with their hands. Slowly, they drifted off to a
satiated sleep.
Carter lay in the bed and stared at her hair splayed around
her head on the pillow. Her arms were bared, but in her
sleep she had pulled the sheet up prudishly, incongruously,
over her breasts. She slept easily, her expression almost
childlike, her intensity gone, the urges stilled and the fires
banked.
Gently he shook her shoulder and one eye opened.
"Nice," she mumbled.
Carter smiled. s 'It's almost seven."
Without a word. Miguela rolled from the bed and reached
for the phone. Carter headed for the bathroom and the
shower.
"Aren't you interested?" she asked, dialing.
"Of course, but you'll tell me."
He turned on the water, tempered it until it held just a
touch of warmth, and began soaping himself.
A few minutes later the shower dcx»r slid aside and
Miguela stepped in beside him.
"l guessed right. They are looking for a shipment. I told
them I might have a contact up north."
"And .
"And they want me to pursue it."




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They both smiled, and Carter turned the nozzle up to
catch her in its spray.
When they were both wet, he drew her out of the spray
Sind lathered her from neck to toe. His hands were slow and
gentle. The lather was white and fragrant and she abandoned
herself to his fingers.
"Now. Do me," he said, and gave her the soap.
She lathered him slowly, feeling how hard his body was,
trying to cover him with white bubbles. He was chuckling,
and she was laughing.
When she would have stepped under the spray to rinse,
he caught her in his arrns again and carried her. This time,
with both of them covered with frothy lather, she kept slip-
ping and he had to toss her up and catch her again to keep
from dropping her.
They fell on the bed togethers Carter on top. He slid into
her. They struggled to engage, laughing at their failures,
trying agaim At last it was only their bodies that slid as
they moved, and it was even better than before. Now they
had to work for delight, but they moved and slid, slid and
moved until they both cried out in ecstasy.
While he was shaving, Miguela stirred in the other room,
and in a few minutes he smelled coffee and bacon. Orange
juice was waiting in a nest of crushed ice, and he sipped it
while she busied herself in the kitchen. It had rained some-
time during the night or early morning, and small diamonds
still beaded flowers outside the open window.
He opened one of the doors to the balcony and sniffed
the clean air. It was kind of a pity, he thought. It would
have been a nice holiday if they had not known how it
would end.
"Pensive?" she said softly behind him, her hand lightly
on his arm, her fingers only hinting at a caress.
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NICK CARTER
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He opened one of the doors to the balcony and sniffed
the clean air. It was kind of a pity, he thought. It would
have been a nice holiday if they had not known how it
would end.
"Pensive?" she said softly behind him, her hand lightly
on his arm, her fingers only hinting at a caress.
80
NICK CARTER
"Yeah. it's morning."
g 'Me, too. I can•t stand people who are all bubbly with
happiness in the morning."
He kissed her nose. "Even after last night?"
"Breakfast is ready," she announced.
He followed her into the kitchen and sat across from her,
conscious of the female curves under the pastel green robe
that clung to her body.
They were through eating and were on their second cups
of coffee when the call came from Washington, Carter took
it on the kitchen phone. Most of his side of the conversation
consisted of mumbles and a few grunts. In three minutes
he had hung up and was back at the table.
'*It's a go. I have a name in Miami. According to the
DEA people in Washington, he's the most likely one to be
Pepe's bank."
"And from him you can get the distributors?"
Carter nodded. "Ten to one I can. I'll leave right away
and contact you when it's moving."
Miguela glanced out the window, and the comers of her
mouth curled down. "It's going to be boring around here
without you."
"Maybe not," Caner replied, suddenly serious. "Watch
yourself. Whoever this Charcas character is, his intelligence
is good and his arrn is long."
"What do you mean?"
"The Mexican police found Norm Best this morning in
a villa south of Acapulco with five slugs in him. They are
calling it robbery. I think we know better."



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