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Bolivian Heat4

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  NICK CARTER
  He made a quick check of files, desks, appointment books,
  and even a microfilm library of Santos's case histories, just
  in case he could uncover something.
  It was just as he'd figured: everything was squeaky clean.
  Santos ran the business of Pepe the Butcher out of his head,
  with nothing written down.
  Back in the basement, Carter retumed the alarm system
  to normal, and used a cot in the janitor's office to crash for
  the rest of the night.
  It was nearly n«jn, and Miguela had been monitoring
  since the offices had opened.
  "Anything yet?" Carter asked, rising groggily from the
  cot they had set up in the van.
  "Lots, but nothing we can use."
  "Been on the phone all morning. The tapes are enough
  to get him disbarred. but there's nothing we can use on the
  present project,"
  "Keep at it. I'm heading for the apanment."
  Carter got the second set of gear together along with the
  keys. and drove to the Paseo de la Reforma.
  At twelve-thirty sharp the old dc»rman retired to his cub-
  byhole for lunch. The building could have been on fire and
  he wouldn't have called the fire department until his meal
  was over.
  Carter the elevator up and let himself into the apart-
  ment. The alarm switch was concealed in the baseboard just
  to the right of the dCM, easy to find if one knew how to
  quickly trace the insulated wire that had been painted against
  the wall.
  The drapes had been pulled, but enough light seeped
  through to enable Carter to do his work.
  He moved through the high-ceilinged elegance of the
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  living room to a wet bar. When the first bug was planted,
  he turned down a wide hallway with a parquet floor. passed
  a windowless guest bath, and entered the huge master bed-
  room at the rear.
  A low balcony, under which were situated double baths
  
  
  
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  The drapes had been pulled, but enough light seeped
  through to enable Carter to do his work.
  He moved through the high-ceilinged elegance of the
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  living room to a wet bar. When the first bug was planted,
  he turned down a wide hallway with a parquet floor. passed
  a windowless guest bath, and entered the huge master bed-
  room at the rear.
  A low balcony, under which were situated double baths
  and wardrobe rooms, occupied the inner end of the room.
  Carter paused in the gloom, noting the rumpled condition
  of the bed, a big bath towel on the floor, the full-length
  triple mirror near the wall. Suitcases stood on a luggage
  rack near the windows, but they were closed and locked
  and he knew he might leave a scar on the leather if he forced
  them open.
  He began checking the bedroom swiftly and methodically,
  Santos's clothing had expensive labels and reflected a Euro-
  pean taste for style. His taste in jewelry and shoes matched.
  Other than that, Carter found nothing. But he hadn't ex-
  pected that he would.
  He used the telephone bug in the master bedroom and,
  just in case. planted the last one in the guest bedroom.
  He was about to leave. when he heard a key in the door.
  Quickly, he turned on the alarm and darted back into the
  guest bedroom.
  The small woman was quite beautiful, with pitch-black
  hair, big dark eyes, a sensual mouth, and a look-again figure
  under her Ekach-colored silk blouse and beige linen slacks.
  She killed the alarm, indicating to Carter that it wasn't
  the first time she had been in the apartment, and dropped
  her purse on the coffee table. At the bar, she built a drink
  and picked up the phone.
  .Well.
  . .1'm at the apartment. . .
  "Victor, it's me.
  darling, if you didn't want me to use it, you shouldn't have
  given it to me. . . . What makes you think that? It needn't
  always be business when I drop in on you. . . .Oh, God,
  must you always think that the only time I come to see you,
  
  
  
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  it's at his direction? . . . Yes, I know the shipment didn't
  get through and you want your goods, but it's not my fault....
  All right, we'll discuss it over dinner."
  She hung up. made a face at the phone, and headed for
  the guest bedroom. Carter darted into a walk-in closet and
  left the door open a crack.
  She moved directly toward the bath, trailing clothes be-
  hind her as she moved. The naked body was every bit as
  striking as the beautiful face. Whoever this woman was,
  she had everything that fit the image Carter already had of
  Victor Santos.
  When the shower was running good and strong, he padded
  back into the living room. Quickly he went through her
  purse. Nothing struck him until he found the United Nations
  badge and the matching identification in the wallet.
  Now he knew who had tipped the caper on the mountain.
  The conversation that night in bed, between the moans
  and groans, solidified it. Santos didn't call her Felicia. The
  name he called her was Juanita. And even though she did
  her best to convince Santos that it was safe to send another
  shipment of arms with a promise of payment at a later date,
  Santos was having none of it.
  Carter got on the phone to Washington and put the wheels
  in motion to do a thorough background check on Felicia
  Damita-aIias-Juanita Something.
  The break came through the office phone the next after-
  noon. Carter wasn't on the phones, but Miguela was awake.
  The moment she heard the gist of the conversation, she
  dived for the extra phones.
  '*Florio, this is Pepe. I need fifty, badly. Texas is scream-
  ing."
  "We have a batch coming out. I should be able to make
  fifty."
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  "A bonus if you can," Santos said. "Will you come out
  of San Marcos?"
  "SC through the Cuilco Pass."
  "Good, I'll have Chico and Montzon meet you at the
  mission outside of Motozintla, day after tomorrow, mid-
  night."
  "All right, but for God's sake tell them to be on time.
  And. Pepe . . . cash, as always."
  "Florio, from me it is always cash."
  The two rnen said their good-byes. Carter and Miguela
  exchanged smiles.
  •call your Gordo character. Tell him you've got a line
  on fifty kilos."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  THIRTEEN
  The Cuilco Pass ran alongside a river of the same name
  between Guatemala and the state of Chiapas in southern
  Mexico. There were no roads, so that meant the fifty kilos
  of pure, processed cocaine would coming through the
  pass by some kind of pack train.
  Miguela, after setting up the buy with Gordo, had flown
  into La Paz to pick up the chopper. Gordo and one of his
  men would return with her to make the pickup near Ocos.
  the southernmost tip of Mexico.
  Through Gordo, Mercado and the Charcas Man had read-
  ily agreed to the buy. They no doubt guessed that the
  source of the fifty kilos was a hijacking, but at that point
  they didn't care where they got the dope to bargain with
  Pepe/Santos for a final shipment of arms.
  Norris's people had done the ferrying of Prida's men—
  seventeen of them—into the mountains around Amolo in
  Bolivia. Carter would go in with a HF-DF beeper. and, just
  in case, another one had been planted in the dope.
  Meanwhile, Prida and two of his men had accompanied
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  Carter to Motozintla. It was a small village of peasant shacks
  and bleak, dusty streets.
  The mission school was located just outside the village.
  close to the mouth of the pass. It was housed in an L-shaped
  cinder-block building built on flat ground, surrounded by a
  carpet of worn grass, rubbery greenery, and an occasional
  palm tree. A small two-story convent faced the road to the
  left of the school amid carefully tended flowers vividly
  displayed.
  A tiny cemetery, enclosed by a sturdy wire fence, lay
  beyond the convent and partially hidden by it. The school
  was deserted except for two boys playing catch in the play-
  ground along the road.
  Carter drove past the school and up an old cart track as
  far as he could. He and Prida then trudged up the mountain
  trail.
  '*Here," the Mexican said, reaching a clearing where they
  could see the village and far beyond it to their rear and the
  gorge through the mountains in front of them. "This is where
  they will make the exchange."
  Carter did his own looking, and then nodded. "You're
  righti We'll have to take them before they get here. There,
  when they enter the valley."
  Prida chuckled. "All this trouble just to find a bandit
  camp in Bolivia? Seöor, why don't you just take me down
  there? I will smell it for you."
  "No offense, Francesco, but many have already tried to
  find Mercado in the mountains, and none have succeeded.
  Believe me, this is the only way. C'mon. let's get your men
  and the mountain gear."
  They were working their way steadily higher now, the
  floor of the valley behind and below them. A light rain had
  impeded their progress, and Carter had thought he had al-
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  ready spotted two good places for the ambush, but Prida
  had vetoed both of them.
  '*The mountains are my friends, sefior. 1 will tell you the
  place when I see it."
  So on they went. Far above them, around the ten-
  thousand-foot level, fat rain clouds were scudding across a
  graying sky and heavy mists already hid most of the peaks.
  Prida slowed. A swift, shallow mountain stream suddenly
  appeared up ahead. cutting across their route and smashing
  down through jagged below. Around the stream the
  rocks were slippery with moss and moisture.
  "Here," Prida declared. 'They will have to ford the streåm
  here. One of us can be in the rocks, there, above and behind
  them. One here, in the trees, and the other . . . there."
  There was a small, cavelike opening about fifty yards up
  the side of the cliff just under the waterfall where it cascaded
  noisily down.
  "If, as you think. senor. there will be six or more of
  them, armed, we can even the odds from those positions
  before they can regroup."
  Carter let his eye take in all three places, and nodded.
  choice. What about the fourth man?"
  Prida laughed. "The fourth man is you, seöor. You find
  your own killing spot."
  They came just after dark, five mules, eight men. Two
  men moved ahead as point guards, and one man moved
  back and forth across the trail in the rear. All of them were
  heavily armed, but the five leading the mules walked with
  their rifles slung.
  In the trees, thirty yards from the stream, Carter cradled
  the Browning BAR in his arms and waited.
  The trail beyond the stream was slippery with broken
  shale and stones. They were taking it easy and slow. Halfway
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  NICK CARTER
  down the slope they turned onto an easier, wider trail, thick
  
  
  
  
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  down the slope they turned onto an easier, wider trail, thick
  with ferns. It led under the waterfall that gushed outward
  off an overhang high above them where Prida crouched.
  They moved through in single file, with a rock wall on
  one side and pouring water on the other, wet hanging moss
  and fems brushing across their faces as they passed.
  Moments later, they were all through the waterfall and
  on the easy slope down to the far bank of the stream.
  Carter smiled to himself as the two point men held their
  rifles high atk)ve their heads and waded in. It was as if Prida
  had cut the trail himself and drew them a map.
  Halfway across, they were up to their lower chests in
  water. But the slowed swirling of the current there enabled
  them to keep on their feet and drag the animals with them.
  They were all in the water, men and animals, when Prida
  shouted, "Stop right there! Throw your guns into the water
  and you will live to see the dawn!"
  The two point men fired blindly with their rifles still in
  awkward positions above their heads. and the war was on.
  All four positions opened up with their BARs, as the
  cocaine smugglers scattered to get out of the water.
  One of the point men was already facedown in the water
  and floating away downstream. The second one had made
  the bank, coming straight at Carter. firing from his knees.
  All of his slugs were going wild.
  Distance was the problem because of darkness. Carter
  gambled and bolted from the trees. As he had expected,
  they were too busy coping with the wings of the main attack
  to notice a lone man bearing down on them point-blank.
  They were surprised and terrified. Carter had closed
  within ten yards before the point man wheeled his rifle.
  Carter fired the BAR and kept firing as he dropped and
  rolled.
  He came to rest on his gut, ready for a second burst, but
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  the man was on his knees, proppd up by the rifle he still
  held. There were red holes stitched all along his white shirt
  front.
  
  
  
  
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  re e pointman wheeled his
  e.
  Carter fired the BAR and kept firing as he dropped and
  rolled.
  He came to rest on his gut, ready for a second burst, but
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  the man was on his knees, proppd up by the rifle he still
  held. There were red holes stitched all along his white shirt
  front.
  Prida's rear and flank attack was closing in strong, and
  the dope smugglers were crumbling. At least half of them
  were dead, and the other four were probably wounded. They
  were snapping off shots from prone positions trhind rocks,
  but it was ineffectual. They couldn't see to hit anyone.
  Carter crawled up the stream until he spotted one of them
  behind a large rock firing up at Prida. He was about to fire,
  when he sensed movement to his right.
  Too late, Carter tried to feint. A machete came down
  across the barrel of the BAR, knocking it from his hands.
  A second swing of the machete sliced toward his neck. He
  ducked undemeath the weapon's saber edge and pulled the
  man toward him. When they straightened up, Carter had
  control ofthe machete and pressed its edge against the man's
  Adam's apple, holding him in front as a human shield.
  ' 'Drop the gun Carter yelled at the man behind the rock.
  He was a big man with a red beard and small eyes. He
  made his decision in an instant, firing and blasting open his
  friend's chest with one slug after another, trying to tear him
  apart until one bullet would get through to Carter.
  Before that could happen, Carter heaved the dead man
  forward. Red Beard sidestepped the flying body, but he was
  too late to get off a shot.
  The Killmaster had yanked Wilhelmina from her shoulder
  rig and was pouring 9mm slugs into the man's chest. The
  bullets drove him back over the boulder until he slid down
  its side into the stream.
  Suddenly everything was deathly still. Only the rush of
  water and the occasional scrape of shoe on rock as Prida
  and his men emerged.
  Then Prida was by his side. "Hombre, you are loco! Why
  
  
  
  
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  and his men emerged.
  Then Pnda was by his side. "Hombre, you are loco! Why
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  NICK CARTER
  so you could run around
  do you think J gave us cover .
  in the open? Loco!"
  Carter grinned. "I didn't want to wait all night."
  Prida shrugged and turned to his men. "Okay, let's bury
  them." Back to Carter, "You chase down the mules."
  "Gladly."
  It took nearly an hour to round up the frightened animals.
  By that time all eight of the smugglers had been buried.
  When Dulciana escorted Felicia Damita into the study,
  Rodolfo Rosero was consuming a whole roast turkey, a
  huge bowl of rx)tato salad, and champagne.
  "Ah, my dear. you lovely but tired."
  She eased into one of the leather chairs. s 'It was a tiring
  flight. I could make no headway with Santos, Rudolfo."
  The huge man waved a turkey leg in the air. "No matter.
  One of Mercado's people. a woman, has made a contact.
  It will be delivered in the morning. Fifty kilos, more than
  enough for our present needs. Champagne?"
  The woman sighed with relief and accepted the proffered
  glass.
  "I don't think it was just the flight that wore you down,
  my dear."
  She shook her head and snorted. "It wasn't. Santos is an
  animal in bed. Don't ever ask me to go up there again."
  "Never," Rosero replied. "there will be no need." He
  paused, studying her with his piggish eyes. "You are very
  beautiful, my dear."
  "*lhank you."
  He lifted the bottle and found it empty.
  "We can do with some more champagne, my dear. I've
  some bottles chilling in the other refrigerator."
  He waddled out and came back with an open bottle and
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  two fresh glasses. He set the tray on the desk, filled the
  glasses, then gave one to her and the other.
  "Your health," he said.
  He drank thirstily. She sipped. She put down her glass.
  He finished his drink, poured more, drained it, and set
  aside the glass.
  "Ihe Russians have agreed to supplying us with the heavy
  equipment as well as a propaganda organization. Cuba will
  supply advisers and mercenaries."
  Her eyes, when she stared back at him, were haunted but
  buming. ' 'Ihen it's time?"
  "Yes. my dear. There will be no more Santos for you.
  In time we will expose him or own him. But now .
  A little of the light left her eyes. "Now?"
  "There is one more little chore that must done. I am
  afraid, my dear, that it is time for your ex-lover, Emmanuel
  Mercado, to depart this life. He has served us well in the
  mountains, but you will make a far better leader of our
  Charcas army."
  "When?"
  "You must leave tonight. I have arranged the situation
  through your brother so that only a handful of men loyal to
  Mercado will be in the main camp. You must there to
  take over the cocaine when it arrives."
  She raised a tired hand over her eyes. '*Must I . . .
  "Juanita Chavez, the little peasant girl who went into a
  brothel at thirteen and tEcame the mistress of a mountain
  bandit at fifteen. It was you who came to me with a dream
  
  
  
  
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  S'Ah, my dear. you have already proven that the fool will
  do anything you ask. Go now, and by dawn there will only
  you and I."
  She stood and moved toward the door,
  "And on your way out, tell that hag of a sister of mine
  to bring me some food."
  They were standing in the clearing behind the mission,
  both of them vaguely illuminated against the gray sky. Carter
  saw them first, just as they came down out of the pass.
  "Florio!" the short. squat one called.
  '*Answer them," Caner hissed.
  Prida waved. "Chico—Montzon—it is we who are late
  this time. Ihe rain. I am sorry!"
  The sounds of the mules' hooves on the stones seemed
  too loud as they approached. They had taken the ponchos
  and wide-brimmed straw hats from the dead men, but Carter
  couldn't see how Santos's two pickup men would buy it.
  Then they were off the rocks, on the upswing part of the
  trails and it had turned to mud. Carter could hear grunts all
  around them as they dragged the animals along.
  They finally made it up over the crest. barely. Now they
  were crossing a level stretch, bending far forward against
  the increasing force of the wind that battered them with rain.
  The two men were about fifty yards in front of them.
  They hadrCt moved, and Caner could see the outline of the
  rifles they held across their chests.
  Now, he thought. now, before we get too close!
  But Prida kept plodding ahead, Carter had agreed to let
  the bandit leader do it his way. They were his men, and as
  he had said, "Life has always been cheap, but for the other
  side. For me and mine, risk is one thing, suicide another.
  No matter how much money you pay me, my way is the
  only way."
  BOLIVIAN HEAT
  So on they went.
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  Suddenly it happened. The tall one gave the alarm and
  raised his rifle.
  
  
  
  
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  he had said, "Life has always been cheap, but for the other
  side. For me and mine, risk is one thing, suicide another.
  No matter how much money you pay me, my way is the
  only way."
  BOLIVIAN HEAT
  So on they went.
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  Suddenly it happened. The tall one gave the alarm and
  raised his rifle.
  'Chico, that is not Florio! It is a trap!"
  Prida fired, point-blank. from his hip first. The slug caught
  the tall one, Montzon, center chest and threw him back.
  But the short one, Chico, dived for the ground, firing
  and shouting.
  That's when all hell broke loose, rifle fire from every-
  where.
  "I thought you said there would only two at this end!"
  Prida growled.
  "I thought there would be," Carter replied.
  They had dived under an overhang. Rifle slugs were drum-
  ming down at them from the opposite clifftop, breaking
  chunks off the overhang and digging up mud in front of
  them. At the same time, rifles from the top of the cliff just
  above them began blasting at the boulders behind them,
  where Prida's two men returned the fire.
  It was obvious the two sides didn't exactly trust each
  other. Santos's men evidently had a few locals at these
  exchanges to make sure the trade went smoothly. They
  would probably never know how Montzon knew for sure
  that they weren't Florio and Company.
  But that was immaterial now, the Killmaster thought.
  Getting out was all that mattered.
  Carter took aim at the opposite clifftop, trailed his sights
  along it carefully. and suddenly squeezed. The blast was
  still echoing when a figure came spinning down from the
  heights and smashed across the trail.
  It was a cue for Prida and his men. They laid down a
  withering fire with the BARs. It forced the snipers up there
  to find cover. The fire from the clifftops on both sides
  slackened.
  
  
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  NICK CARTER
  "They've only got single-action rifles." Prida said.
  Carter nodded. "They've got us outnumbered, but we've
  got them outgunned."
  And there was another problem. During the firing, the
  mules had bolted on up over the ridge. If Chico had seen
  them, he could gathering the goods right now. Carter
  could only h0FE that he had been too busy saving his skin
  to have noticed.
  "Once over the ridge, it's straight downhill to the mis-
  sion," Carter said. digging in his pack. "You lay down cover
  for me until I hit the top, then I'll do the same for the three
  of you."
  He handed Prida two grenades and shoved two more in
  his own pckets. Instructions were stage-whisr*red to the
  other two across the trail. When their replies came back
  affirmative, Carter got ready.
  He rose in a tight crouch under the overhang. spreading
  his legs a bit. Across the clearing and beside him, he could
  see the other three men taking upward aim.
  Abruptly, the sound of gunfire filling the air, Carter
  launched out into the opening. Diving forward, he scrambled
  up. At the top of the crest he saw an overhanging rock
  twenty feet distant.
  He hit the dirt on one shoulder and did a fast roll until
  he was under the rock. A slug ripped itself apart above him.
  Another chopped up dirt by his right leg.
  But it was too late. He could see them and they couldn't
  see him.
  He checked the distance and stepped from cover twide
  the rcxk. "Now!"
  He heaved both grenades and heard Prida grunt as the
  old bandit did the same,
  Dropping to his butt, Carter grabbed the BAR and sat
  
  
  
  
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  up, bracing his elbows on his raised knees. He began sighting
  on the left half of the clifftop opposite, swinging the rifle
  along the broken formations up there. slowly. Something
  moved a little between two jagged peaks. He slammed two
  shots into the notch, the reports blending together. He
  couldn't tell if he hit, but whoever it was stopped moving
  land showing himself.
  And then the grenades went off . . . one, two, three. four
  blinding flashes along both cliffsides. Carter kept firing
  between the screams. From his left he heard the sound of
  running feet. Just before they got to the rock, he jumped
  out, at a dead run himself, and led them down the hill.
  He heard Prida and his men racing after him. But he
  didn't look back. He was concentrating too hard on the
  rain-swept ground ahead, and doing some of the hardest
  running of his life. He ran with the BAR in one hand and
  the Luger in his other, with a finger on the trigger of each.
  Bullets cut through the rain around him, but he kept going
  straight ahead. They weren't going to hit him except by
  chance, and zigzagging wouldn't change the odds.
  Ahead he saw the car. Chico was slamming the trunk lid
  and waddling toward the driver's side as fast as his short
  legs could carry him. In his right hand was a briefcase that
  he threw into the car before him.
  They were fifty yards from the car when Carter saw a
  patch of bushes to his right stir. The BAR boomed, jumping
  under his ann.
  The bushes parted and an agonized cry sounded. A figure
  half rose, a rifle spilling from limp hands, then toppled
  forward, flattening the bushes to lie still.
  Carter forced air into his lungs. Chico had the car started
  and was tuming it around.
  "Don •t hit the car!" Carter shouted. '*We need it ourselves.
  He's already loaded the goods!"
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  The Killmaster managed to get a few paces in front of
  the car trfore it lurched forward. Chico was grinding the
  shift into first. Carter went airborne. stretching across the
  hood and curling sideways at the same time.
  He could see Chico's face contorted in terror behind the
  windshield just before it shattered. Carter kept firing, emp-
  tying half the clip to make sure the man was dead.
  The car lurched once and the engine died.
  "Get in!" Carter hissed. leaping to his feet on the hood.
  He kicked out the ruined windshield, to the ground,
  and jerked the door. By the time he had yanked Chico's
  bloody remains from the driver's seat, Prida had restarted
  the car from the other side.
  Carter was in and the back wheels were throwing mud.
  The car skidded to both sides of the road, straightened out,
  and they were flying.
  "There are a few more of them coming out of the hills!"
  Prida yelled, gesturing out the side window.
  "The hell with •em," Carter growled. "Ikt 'em come!"
  He slammed around two curves and they were through
  the village. About a mile farther on, he heard an exclaimed
  curse of surprise from Prida. He looked over.
  The briefcase that Chico had been carrying was open on
  his lap. it was stuffed with the money Santos had intended
  to use as payment for the raw cocaine.
  "Senor," Prida whooped, "perhaps, a bonus?"
  "Hell, yes," Carter said, laughing. ' 'But it'll cost you
  a cigarette, preferably lit. My hands are busy."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Prida had taken over the driving. Carter sat beside him,
  with the other two in the rear with the fifty kilos in saddlebags
  at their feet. One beeper had already been secreted in one
  of the bags. The other was in Carter's false tooth. He knew
  it was impossible, but he could swear he could feel the
  pulsing through his cheek as it sent out its unending signal.
  "The village," Prida announced.
  Carter only nodded as the car swerved off the paved road
  and wound through a series of streets that became progres-
  sively narrower and more twisting. Finally the streets lost
  their sidewalks and the cracked, dirt-smeared walls pressed
  in close on either side, seeming to tilt toward each other.
  There were no people and no lights. In the air was the
  smell of the sea.
  "There," Caner said, "on your right."
  Prida pulled into the decaying courtyard and killed the
  lights and engine. Without being told. the two men in the
  rear got out, all four of the BARs slung over their shoulders.
  "You know the back way to the cliff, and what to do,"
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  Prida said. Both men nodded. "And make sure you ruin the
  car first."
  "And make sure," Carter added with a chuckle, "you
  don't hit us."
  The two men moved through the inner courtyard with its
  arches sagging on broken columns and laundry strung across
  it from one high arcade to the other.
  When they were out of sight, Carter turned to Prida.
  "Okay, let's go."
  The car rumbled through the rest of the village and up
  toward the cliffs and the ocean. Five minutes later, they
  turned off the dirt road onto a narrow, rutted lane bordered
  by a high stone wall that seemed to go on forever.
  A little farther on, the lights fell on an old man. He sat
  on an upturned barrel in front of a one-room shack next to
  an iron gate in the fence. He looked up, and Carter could
  see his wrinkled face. He had an Ingram machine pistol
  across his lap.
  Prida stopped the car and killed the lights, but left the
  engine running. Carter got out, held his hands well out from
  his body, and approached the old man.
  The ground around the shack was neat and clean, and in
  the back, protected by a divided enclosure, he kept a cow
  and a flock of chickens.
  Idly, Caner wondered how much money the old man had
  buried in coffee cans back there. He had probably been
  letting d01k smugglers use his property for a landing pad
  for years.
  "Buenos noches, " Carter said.
  The old man grunted.
  "We have a meeting . . with Gordo."
  Another grunt and then words. "There was only supposed
  to be one, senor."
  
  
  
  
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  Carter smiled. don't like to watch my own back, old
  man. Open the gate."
  "You have money?"
  Carter knew that Miguela and Gordo had already paid
  him, but he slowly moved his hand toward his pocket any-
  way; From the roll there, he extracted three one-hundred-
  dollar bills and passed them over.
  "Gracias. " He stood and opened the huge padlock on
  the gate. Carter got back in the car. As they passed the old
  man. he spoke. "I will send the signal. They usually come
  in about twenty minutes."
  Carter nodded and they drove through. It was about a
  quarter of a mile over an open field to the edge of the cliff
  and the beaten-down grass that indicated the helicopter pad.
  Wordlessly, they stacked the saddlebags on the hood of
  the car and lit cigarettes. Now and then, as they smoked
  and waited, their eyes would dart to the thick grove of trees
  a hundred yards to their right.
  Hopefully, Prida's two men were already set up in those
  trees.
  'Ihen they heard it. the low rumble of the Sud-
  denly. four corner lights came on in front of them.
  "The old man," Prida said.
  Carter nodded. "Got it down to a science. don't they?"
  Then it came, right up over the face of the cliff like a
  big awkward bird. Through the bubble canopy, Caner could
  make out Miguela's face in the pilot's seat slightly illumi-
  nated by the green dashboard lights.
  She set the craft down perfectly and killed the engines.
  The door opened and two men crawled out underthe flopping
  but still turning rotors.
  The first one was obviously Gordo Martinez . . . bg
  swarthy, with a shock of black hair, a thick mustache, and
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  eyes that glowed like coals. He moved forward, but the
  second man. smaller but cloned with the same features,
  hung back cradling a sawed-off shotgun.
  Prida moved away from Carter, cocking the two U.S.
  Army issue .45s from his belt.
  Gordo stopped short of Carter and shined a flashlight in
  his face. "That him?"
  'That's him," came Miguela's voice from the chopper
  cockpit. "Nick Houston."
  "You were told to come alone." Gordo said, lowering
  the light.
  Carter shrugged. "You bring a man, I bring a man." He
  stepped aside. 'There it is. You want to count it?"
  "I'll do more than that."
  For the next ten minutes, with Carter holding the light,
  Gordo taste-tested, chemically tested, weighed, and
  counted. In that time he went through only a few of the bags.
  Carter seemed nervous. "Can't you just do a random test?"
  "What's the problem?"
  . uh, we might have a few problems coming
  "Well
  behind us."
  Gordo scowled, but Carter could tell by his eyes that he
  understood. He started picking up his pace. As each bag
  was finished, Carter returned it to the saddlebags. *Ihat
  done, he camed it to the chopper, being careful not to meet
  Miguela's eyes.
  "I haven't seen my money yet," Carter said.
  "You'll see it. We're honest businessmen."
  The words were barely out of Gordo's mouth when Prida's
  two men opened up from the woods. fie first volley shat-
  tered the rear window, clattered off the hood, and ruptured
  one tire.
  All of them dropped to the ground returning the fire.
  Miguela started the chopper.
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  "You asshole!" Gordo spat. "You were followed!"
  Carter fired the Luger twice, high. "l told you there might
  
  
  
  
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  two men opened up from the woods. The first volleyshat-
  tered the rear window, clattered off the hood, and ruptured
  one tire.
  All of them dropped to the ground returning the fire.
  Miguela started the chopper.
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  "You asshole!" Gordo spat. "You were followed!"
  Carter fired the Luger twice, high. "l told you there might
  be a problem. Christ, they ruined the car!"
  Tat's your problem," Gordo said, and ran in a crouch
  for the chopper. His man was already inside.
  Carter was right behind him, with Prida following him.
  "What about my dough!"
  "You'll get it," Gordo growled, diving into the chopper
  and grabbing a briefcase from the floorboards.
  "I want to count it," Carter yelled amve the roaring en-
  gines.
  "Now? Here? You're out of your fucking mind!"
  "No!" Carter shouted. "We're going with you!"
  "The hell you—
  g 'We have to! God knows how many of them are out
  there, and they've got our car!"
  "No way." Gordo said, and made to kick Carter in the
  chest.
  The Killmaster slid under the chopper and rolled. He
  came up on the other side and yanked the pilot's door open.
  In a second. he had hoisted himself up and shoved the
  Luger's muzzle behind Miguela's ear.
  "We don't go, nobody goes."
  Gordo looked stricken. Half his mustache was between
  his teeth.
  '*You'd better make up your goddamned minds," Miguela
  shouted. "They're firing at the chopper now!"
  "All right, dammit!" Gordo barked. "Get in! Get us out
  of here!"
  She grasped the two sticks, the cyclic in her right hand.
  the collective in her left, and revved the throttle hard on the
  collective, holding it.
  "Get the hatches!" she shouted.
  They were scarcely shut when she pulled the collective
  
  
  
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  collective, holding it.
  "Get the hatches!" she shouted.
  They were scarcely shut when she pulled the collective
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  NICK CARTER
  toward her, lifting the helicopter off the ground. They tilted
  up, then she eased the cyclic stick between her legs forward
  and they hammered out over the cliff.
  They diprrd. Miguela swung the tail around and kicked
  the throttle.
  Then they were roaring out over the sea.
  Carter lit a cigarette. "Where we goin'?"
  Gordo swiveled in his right-hand seat, glowering. "None
  of your fucking business. Just be glad you're alive."
  The air was heavy with the smell from the big tubs that
  constantly cooked the coca leaves into crystals that would
  eventually be raw cocaine.
  Emmanuel Mercado and Felicia Damita were under a
  large spreading tree in front of the hut that served as his
  quarters. She was seated. Mercado was lying on his back
  with his head in her lap.
  On the hills, they could see the silhouettes of the guards
  against the sky. One ofthem strummed a guitar as he walked.
  Below them was a gently sloping field were tons of coca
  leaves were spread out for drying.
  Neither of them had spoken for several minutes. Felicia
  wound one of his thick curls around a finger. She moved
  her hand down to his forehead and gently stroked the furrows
  she found there.
  "Shouldn't I have come?"
  Mercado shrugged. "You come and go as you please. "
  "I almost didn't. I wasn't sure you still wanted me."
  He sighed heavily. "I want Juanita. You are this new
  woman, this Felicia Damita with the strange speech. the
  fancy manners . .
  He went on talking. She said nothing. Movement took
  her eyes to the rocks behind the larger of the two bunkhouses.
  Her brother Erasmo and his friend Hector emerged from the
  
  
  
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  rocks. They both nodded and moved off toward the cook
  fires.
  It was the signal. The five men left in the camp that were
  loyal to Mercado were dead.
  Now it was up to her. She placed her hands close to his
  lips and leaned close to his ear.
  "Shhh, Emmanuel, shhh, listen to me."
  "I am still the same Juanita, querido . . . in the bed."
  He looked up, over the curve of her full breasts into her
  dark eyes, and felt himself melt. Suddenly he rolled to his
  feet and lifted her into his arrns.
  "We shall see . .
  As he carried her into the hut, she twisted in his arms,
  holding him, kissing him. her tongues hot, sensuous, explor-
  ing his mouth.
  He set her down at the foot of his grubby cot and began
  to rip at his clothes. She undressed slowly, intoxicating him
  with her body as it was revealed.
  When he tensed to leap on her, she stopped. "Slowly,
  querido, let us enjoy. Let me bathe you. You remember the
  last time we bathed together?"
  "Yes . . . yes
  She led him into the little attached room where there was
  an ancient iron tub and a makeshift shower. The old woman
  had followed her instructions well. There were buckets of
  hot water outside the door still on hot coals.
  She allowed him to fondle and paw her as she prepared
  the bath.
  "In you go."
  Obediently, Mercado got into the tub and she began soap-
  ing him, He began to relax.
  "You know what we both need?" she whispered in his ear.
  His eyes lit up. He smiled and nodded vigorously. She
  NICK CARTER
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  knew he would. That was one of the first things that had
  driven her down the mountain to negotiate with Rosero.
  Emmanuel Mercado liked to use what he sold. It was only
  a matter of time before he became a hopeless addict, if he
  wasn't already.
  "It's behind the food tins, on the shelf."
  "I'll be right back," she said.
  She padded into the main room and went to her purse.
  With the pillow from the cot, she muffled the click of the
  switchblade and went back to the bath.
  He faced away from her. lolling in the water. She stood
  behind him.
  "You find it?"
  "I found its"
  she said. "Close your eyes, my darling.
  When I tell you to sniff, sniff."
  Mercado closed his eyes and leaned back.
  She grasped his hair with her left hand and wielded the
  knife with the right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  In the east, the sun began to peek over the horizon as the
  tEginnings of dawn seeped through the sky. Ahead of them,
  a mesa rose up and Gordo gave Miguela explicit instructions
  on her approach. He had been doing it since they had crossed
  the frontier into Bolivia. Without it, they would have piled
  into a mountain several times.
  Carter could see now why U.S. undercover agents and
  the Bolivian army had never been able to pinpoint Mercado's
  camp.
  "Through there," Gordo said. pointing.
  "There?" Miguela gasped. "It's the side ofa mountain
  "Be alert, there is an 0F1ing."
  And, sure enough, there was, She banked the chopper
  through a large rock tunnel, and in seconds they came out
  over a craggy, well-disguised ravine. The camp and a land-
  ing pad were below. Slowly, carefully, Miguela set the craft
  down through the narrow opening between the
  As they descended, Carter cased the place. He took in
  the camouflage nets that had been strung up to hide the
  camp from any chance plane that happened to wander over.
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  He saw the drying coca leaves and the boiling tubs. There
  were bunkhouses, smaller living huts. and corrals with don-
  keys and short„ strong-legged, shaggy horses.
  At the far end of the compound, high in the rocks, he
  spotted an opening to a cave. It was closed off with two
  massive steel doors set right into the living rock, and three
  guards moved above and in front of it.
  Carter was willing to bet that the cache of arms had been
  stored in there.
  They set down. As soon as the engine was killed, knots
  of men gravitating toward the machine. Carter. Prida,
  and Miguela stayed in place. Gordo and his shadow opened
  the hatch and dropped to the ground.
  Two steps from the chopper. they came up short as a
  dark-haired woman in jeans and a heavy sheepskin jacket
  stepped from the center of the group of men. She had an
  M- 16 leveled at Gordo.
  "Juanita
  what are you doing up here?" Gordo
  exclaimed.
  "Changing the command," the woman replied with a
  sneer.
  "You bitchl Where is Emmanuel?"
  "With his ancestors. Gordo. Join him."
  She calmly fired a short burst into both men. They dropped
  like rocks and she stepped over the bloody bodies.
  '*You are Miguela Obertez?"
  g 'Yes."
  s •Get out. I will talk to you later to find out where your
  allegiances are."
  have no allegiances," Miguela said, shrugging. "I just
  fly
  . for money."
  "That's why you may live." Felicia said. "Pilots are
  scarce. Who are you?"
  The M-16 swung around to cover Caner and Prida. The
  
  
  
  
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  woman's knuckle on the trigger was white. Carter started
  to speak, but Miguela interrupted. She explained who they
  were and what had happened during the pickup.
  Felicia seemed to mull this over. Suddenly she turned to
  the other men. "Put all three of them in Mercado's hut and
  a guard front and back. And unload the goods and bring
  the bags to the boiling house."
  Carter stepped from the and was immediately
  searched. S *What about my money?" he growled.
  "What about it?" the woman replied. "If I decide to let
  you live, you can spend it. If not .
  She shrugged and turned away.
  The heat inside the hut didn't get unbearable until mid-
  afternoon, They had been fed a decent meal, but other than
  that they had seen no one and heard nothing except move-
  ment around the camp outside.
  They hadn't tEen bound, but then there was no need. If
  they made a break for it, they would be cut down in the
  open area around the hut before they got ten feet.
  Caner didn't expect to find any listening devices, but he
  checked the hut anyway. With hand signals, he declared,
  "no talking" for the first few hours of their imprisonment.
  Eventually the guards, tiring of the hot sun beating down
  on them, moved away into the shade of an overhang.
  Carter checked for anyone else that might be hanging
  around, saw no one, and tumed to the other two. "Francesco,
  how many do you figure?"
  "Not counting the women around the cook fires and boil-
  ing sheds, J figure twenty-eight. "
  Carter nodded. "That's about what I made it. This is the
  main camp for the arms storage and coca processing, but
  there are probably dozens of mini-camps strewn around the
  mountians."
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  Prida smiled. "My men will take them out as they come
  up. We have lived t(X) many years in Mexico like they are
  living here. My men will spot the camps."
  "When will they be here?" Miguela asked Carter.
  "They started tracking us from the ground the moment
  we crossed the frontier. The move would have started right
  away, but if it's still daylight when they get within the
  ten-mile range, they'll go under until darkness."
  She nodded. "I have a vague idea where we are. If they
  come from the Apolo area and didn't have too much in the
  way of fighting to hinder them, they'll be here around mid-
  night."
  * *That would be Prida said. "Figure two hours
  to scout the camp and get into position .
  . I'd say the
  attack would come between two and three in the morning. "
  Carter lit a cigarette and dragged deeply. "So all we have
  to do is wait, sweat, and hope."
  "Hope," Miguela asked, 'Tor what?"
  "Hope that they don't dump out every kilo of that coke
  and find the other beeper."
  It was too much to hope for. They came for him, three
  of them, just before dusk.
  "You . .
  The moment he stood, two of them grabbed his arms and
  put his hands in the vicinity of the back of his neck. With
  the third leading, they moved him on his toes across the
  clearing and into another hut,
  She was there, sitting behind a makeshift desk, a plank
  over two upturned barrels. Three more heavily armed men
  stood behind her. She was all anger in the face, and Carter
  could read death in her eyes.
  "Who are you?"
  "Nick Houston. I work out of Miami—
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  She nodded and the man to Carter's right swung. The
  fist caught him before he could tense his gut muscles. The
  
  
  
  
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  She nodded and the man to Carter's right swung. The
  fist caught him before he could tense his gut muscles. The
  guy was big and he could punch. Carter went to his knees
  and fought for air.
  He took a deep breath, fighting the nausea and the dizzi-
  ness. For a moment, he thought he would pass out. but then
  the feeling left him. He opened his eyes again and the room
  steadied. The focus came back and they pulled him to his
  feet.
  She was standing now, and for the first time he noticed
  that she had shed the sheepskin jacket. She wore a plain
  white T-shirt with no bra. 'Ihe room was hot, and the T-shirt
  was soaked with perspiration and molded like skin to her
  bare breasts. She had beautiful breasts. But then she was
  beautiful all over.
  "Who are you?" she repeated, her voice hard with venom.
  "Nick Houston." he gasped, and decided to try a gambit
  bluff. "Look, ask Mercado. He had checked me out in
  Miami. "
  'SMercado is dead. I slit his throat."
  The evilest ones were always the beautiful ones. Carter
  thought, and wondered if Benito Coronado had thought she
  was beautiful just before she killed him.
  She ncxjded again.
  This time the fist caught him alongside the head. As he
  spun away, the one on his left got two more good licks to
  his gut. A pair of fists caught him high in the back and he
  went down. He had barely hit the dirt floor when they put
  the boots to him.
  It seemed to go on forever. His head started to spin and
  the room with it. He was sure he was about to vomit, when
  they stopped and again dragged him to his feet. Suddenly
  he was leaning over the desk, her face inches from his. She
  grabbed his hair and pulled his head down.
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  There, in the center of the desks was the beeper he had
  planted in the dope. He could see blood from his nose
  dripping all over it.
  
  
  
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  they stopped and again dragged him to his feet. Suddenly
  he was leaning over the desk, her face inches from his. She
  grabbed his hair and pulled his head down.
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  NICK CARTER
  There, in the center of the desks was the beeper he had
  planted in the dope. He could see blood from his nose
  dripping all over it.
  "Who did you plant this for?"
  *'Lady, I don't even know what that is."
  She flipped the .45 in her free hand and brought the butt
  down on the crushing it. Then she it again
  and brought the barrel across his face. Carter sagged.
  "Mayt* we should take it easy." a voice said. "He's no
  good to us--
  "He knows. I'm sure he knows!"
  Carter looked up, straining to see her through the blood
  running in his eyes. "I don't know nothin'. lady."
  "lhen what are you doing with this?"
  *'Ihey must have planted it before the hijack. I swear ... "
  "You swear?"
  She lifted the .45 again, but before she could bring it
  down, Carter lurched forward. He butted her. hard, and
  with his skull felt her bone and flesh give. She cried out in
  pain, fell back, and Carter went after her.
  He never made it.
  Something hard came down across the back of his neck
  and he went out.
  He awoke feeling like a man suffocating beneath a
  hundred very heavy blankets. He struggled, pushing them
  aside one by one, rising slowly to the surface and to cool
  air. He struggled for a long time, and then he felt a mild
  breeze and lay back, gasping for breath, and his eyes closed.
  He lay that way for a long time, and then he tried to
  move. He couldn't. His feet were tied together, his wrists
  bound behind his back. He seemed to on a dirt floor,
  
  
  
  
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  and from the total darkness, he guessed they had moved
  him from the original hut.
  It hurt to smile, but he managed. The woman had done
  him two favors by interrogating him. One, he was on his
  own to operate, and two, unlike up on the mountain during
  the other raid, they had not removed his watch.
  He lay still for a minute or two, listening, but there was
  o movement. To his left he heard a muffled cough. That,
  he surmised, would be the door and it a guard.
  Carter tested the bindings on his wr'ist, moving his hands
  back and forth. There was enough room for the little finger
  of his right hand to latch on to the expansion band of his
  watch and work it down his left arm to the wrist.
  He traced the face of the watch with one finger, found
  the main stem, and moved a little below it until his nail
  detected a slight indentation. He found a second and a third.
  This one he pressed firrnly with the edge of his nail, then
  winced as the sharp point of a tiny knife bit into his wrist.
  The cutting edge was only an inch long, but it was razor-
  sharp.
  He moved cautiously to maneuver the tiny blade to where
  it would do the most good, sawing back and forth gingerly.
  When his hands were free, he twisted around as quietly as
  possible and cut the bonds on his feet.
  Then, slowly, by feel, he crept on hands and knees toward
  where he hoped the door would be.
  The crack was fingernail-thin, but he could see. He was
  in the shack adjacent to the mouth of the cave. Below, he
  could see the whole compound, including the hut where he
  had been, with the guard at the front door and the other in
  the rear. The sun had gone down long ago.
  He had little doubt that they had questioned Prida and
  Miguela. There was a different aura over the camp. The
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  cook fires had not tren banked; they had been extinguished.
  There were no women in sight, and the guards could not
  seen walking the clifftops.
  They would have interrogated Prida carefully, making
  sure that he did not pass out before they found out what
  they wanted to know. Between that and the beqrr, they
  would be wamed of the raid.
  Carter had to escape and create a diversion inside the
  camp, or Prida's men would be slaughtered when they came
  in.
  By feel, he started going over the interior of the shack.
  It didn't take long to identify it as a storehouse. He quietly
  opened crate after crate of canned food. And then he had
  some luck, a carton of smaller boxes of wooden matches.
  He chanced one and did a quick lcx)k around. In one
  comer was a cot with two blankets thrown carelessly over it.
  He snuffed the match and again, by feel, he got the
  blankets and worked them into the crack around the door.
  This done, he checked and could find no other way for light
  to escape.
  Now there was one match after another.
  The rear wall was solid stone, the mountain. 'Ihe other
  three walls were wood, no windows. and only the one door.
  Ihen he saw it, an old pot-bellied stove. The stovepipe
  went directly up through the roof. Quickly, he built a ladder
  of cartons and crates until he was right under the roof.
  It would be a narrow squeeze, a very narrow squeeze.
  But he was pretty sure. if he could get the pipe back down
  through the ceiling he might be able to go through the hole.
  He crawled back down and searched until he found a
  broken table knife he could use for a screwdriver. The sec-
  tions were in three-foot lengths. One by one. he loosened
  the screws on three sections from the bottom. When this
  was done, he went back to work on the very bottom section.
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  With the screw out, he carefully separated the two uppermost
  sections.
  
  
  
  
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  With the screw out, he carefully separated the two uppermost
  sections.
  Otere was a slight scrape as the pipe went on up through
  the a couple of inches. He froze for a full three minutes.
  When there Was no guard charging through the door or the
  sound of investigating footsteps on the roof, he removed
  the lower section.
  Then it was just a matter of sliding the section from the
  stove and lowering the pipe.
  He glanced up.
  One more section would do it. Again he •completely re-
  moved screws, and then the number two section of pipe.
  This time. as he lowered the pipe through the roof. he
  moved up the cartons at the same time. At last he saw the
  flame cover, then a ray of moonlight, and then the pipe was
  Carefully, he laid it on its side, moved back to the floor
  of the hut, and gingerly laid it on the dirt floor.
  The hole was only about sixteen inches across and he had
  to examine it by feel. But it didn't take long to find out that
  the wood under the shingles had rotted away. It crumpled
  in his fingers. and in no time he had enlarged it enough to
  let his body pass through.
  Seconds later, he was out and moving like a cat across
  the roof.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  At the front edge of the roof, Carter stretched out on his
  t*lly. The guard was below him, about ten feet out from
  the hut. He stood, hipshot, leaning against a big boulder,
  smoking, his back to the Killmaster and the hut.
  Earlier that morning. when they had first arrived. most
  of the men were wearing only side arms. That was now
  changed. This one was ready for bear. He wore a web belt
  around his hip. with a .45 on one side and a commando
  knife on the other. A single-action Enfield was slung across
  his shoulder, and two trlts of ammunition wound over his
  chest.
  Carter drew his knees up slowly beneath him, being care-
  ful not to make a sound. He tensed, then plummeted in a
  ball. The movement brought the guard around. His eyes
  went wide, but surprise arrested sound and movement for
  the split second Carter needed.
  He kicked out, and both feet landed in the center of the
  guard •s stomach. Air swooshed out of the man like a ruptured
  balloon. He went down, with Carter immediately on top of
  him. A try for the windpipe missed when the guard rolled,
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  but the lethal side of Carter's hand caught a collarbone and
  it snapped like a twig.
  The man OFEned his mouth to scream in pain, but it
  became a barely audible grunt when Carter clamped the jaw
  shut with his left hand. Then he curled his right arm around
  the man's neck and muscled him to his feet.
  Three fast steps and the guard's skull smashed against
  the boulder, splitting like an overripe watermelon.
  Seconds later, after pulling on the man's jacket and his
  arms, Carter was stuffing the body between two large rocks
  beside the hut.
  Then he reconnoitered the scene above and trlow. To
  his right about fifty yards was the steel door to the cave.
  The three guards he had seen there earlier were gone. They
  had probably been pulled off for perimeter duty on one of
  the trails that led down the mountain.
  About five hundred boulder-strewn yards beyond the cave
  around the cliff face, was the hut holding Prida and Miguela.
  It was hard to say where the rebels were hidden on the cliff
  face above him, but it was a good bet that their concentration
  would be out rather than in. trying to sm»t the incoming
  raiders.
  Carter guessed his best chance was boldness for the first
  three hundred yards, and he set off, Upright, casual, smoking
  a cigarette, he moved through the rocks. Twice he heard
  sounds of movement above him. Once he saw the head and
  shoulders of a man who glanced his way. The man gave
  him a one-finger salute and Carter returned it.
  Above the hut. the rocks were larger. again boulder-sized,
  as they had been near the cave and his former prison. When
  he reached them, he dropped into a stalking crouch and
  covered the rest of the distance until he was behind the hut
  and directly above the rear guard.
  Here he removed his boots. He made a pile of boots,
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  rifle. ammunition belts. and the webbed holster belt. These
  he would return for shortly.
  Taking only the commando knife. he slithered downward
  through the rcxks until he could literally hear the man's
  breathing. A couple of pebbles tossed a few feet to the right
  brought the guard to his feet. Evidently the sound only made
  him curious, not alarmed.
  As he moved around the boulder separating him and Car-
  ter, he hadn't drawn his .45 nor unslung his rifle.
  Carter came out of the inky blackness low, like a cat.
  The guard was just starting to turn when the knife slid across
  his throat with a whisper of sound.
  He gagged once and dropped.
  Carter quickly stripped off his jacket before it got too
  blood-soaked, and gathered up his gear. He returned to his
  own cache and put on his boots.
  Y.men he reached the rear door of the hut, he could see
  why guards were needed. They had no provisions for pris-
  oners, obviously. There was not even a knob or catch on
  the door, let alone a lock.
  Gently he opened it, darted inside, and pulled the door
  shut behind him.
  Imere was one lit candle. Beside it lay Prida, with Miguela
  doing the best she could to ease his pain.
  She looked up at Carter, and before she could say anything
  he moved into the sphere of light, a finger to his lips.
  "Jesus," she breathed, "I thought they had killed you."
  'Close," Carter said, kneeling beside Prida.
  One of the man's discolored eyes opened and tried to
  focus. One scan over the face and down the body told Carter
  that they had worked him over good, One eye was swollen
  shut and the rest of his face was bloated with bruises. The
  nose was smashed and part of one ear had been sliced off.
  He was naked to the waist, and Carter could see that they
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  NICK CARTER
  had used cigarettes on his upper body.
  "I'm alive," he croaked.
  
  
  
  
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  (Rus. One scan over the face and down the body told Carter
  that they had worked him over good, One eye was swollen
  shut and the rest of his face was bloated with bruises. The
  nose was smashed and part of one ear had been sliced off.
  He was naked to the waist, and Carter could see that they
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  NICK CARTER
  had used cigarettes on his upper body.
  "I'm alive," he croaked.
  Carter lifted one hand. "Ihey had also done a number.
  probably with pliers, on the knuckles.
  "I didn't tell them shit, amigo. "
  Carter only nodded. He knew better. Prida probably
  hadn't told them everything, but what he had told them had
  been enough so they could fill in the cracks.
  'Good man. Can you walk?"
  "Oh, yes," Prida chuckled. "Thankfully, they did nothing
  below the waist."
  Carter examined his face. especially the eyes. "Problem
  is, can you see?"
  Prida squinted. "With one eye, if I keep it 01*n."
  Carter quickly explained. "You've got to get down the
  mountain. They're alerted. If your aren't warned,
  they'll be slaughtered, no matter how careful they are or
  how many of the mini-camps they have taken out."
  Prida's face fell. He understood.
  Carter squeezed his shoulder. "No matter. Chances are
  they would have figured out all the action just by discovering
  the
  Gingerly. he helped Prida to his feet. The man was shaky,
  but after a few seconds of walking him around the hut, he
  seemed tc get new strength and regain his equilibrium.
  He nodded. "It's not the legs, it's the head, but it's clear-
  ing."
  '*Good man. Start putting on that gear." He turned to
  Miguela. "You're staying."
  Carter starting digging in his mouth as he spoke. "In case
  it's a rout up here, either way, I want the woman to escape.
  The best way is with you in the helicopter."
  
  
  
  
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  Carter starting digging in his mouth as he spoke. "In case
  it's a rout up here, either way, I want the woman to escape.
  The best way is with you in the helicopter."
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  Miguela looked puzzled. "But even if we do, how ... "
  171
  Carter handed her the tooth. "You won't have to tell us
  here you are. You'll lead us. I'll find you. That's the other
  . it's in the tooth."
  "What do I do with it?"
  "Swallow it!" She hesitated, and Carter hissed. "If I've
  any germs you've already got them."
  "It's not that, it's . . .
  ohs what the hell." She popped
  e tooth in her mouth and swallowed.
  "Vamanos, amigo, " Prida said.
  "A minute," Carter replied, checking Miguela's watch
  ainst his, "In exactly thirty minutes, I want you to start
  ging on the door. raise all kinds of hell. When they
  me in, tell them we've escaped, tell them you want to be
  en to the boss lady, insist on it."
  A light came on in her eyes. "Get in her good graces?"
  "Exactly. She won't trust you completely. Hell, she
  ouldn't trust her own mother. But when the fireworks start
  d she's losing, she'll run."
  "Right to the Charcas Man."
  "That's what I hope. Hell, I'm sure of it. He stays hidden,
  t he's got to have an operating arm, and I think she's it."
  '*It's a long shot," Miguela replied. "What if she doesn't
  ve to run?"
  "Seöorita," Prida declared, "you have not seen a poor
  exican fight when there is money in the winning. ülis
  Suta will run .
  "One more thing . . Carter said.
  "I'm going to have to bang you up a little."
  Before she could object, Carter slapped her, hard. He
  pped her face back and forth several times until the color
  as high. She took it without a whimper. Then he kissed her.
  "Remember, a half hour."
  
  
  
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  "Remember, a half hour."
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  Then Carter and Prida slid silently from the back of the
  hut.
  High in the rocks, they separated, the Mexican over the
  mountain, Carter backtracking toward the arms dump behind
  the steel doors of the cave.
  In the rocks above the cave, Carter crisscrossed back and
  forth until he found it, a small opening that served as a
  ventilation duct. He had already checked the big steel doors,
  and other than emptying the noisy Enfield into the lock.
  there was no way he could get them open. This was a quieter
  access.
  Gently, he lifted the grate out and lowered half his body
  into the hole. A lit match told him everything. It was an
  area about the size of a basketball court. The drop from the
  ceiling where he lay was about twenty feet.
  Carefully, he eased over, hung by his hands, and dropped.
  He hit with his knees bent, and rolled. Other than a -slight
  pain in his shoulder, he came back up none the worse for
  wear.
  He lit one match and was careful with it until he found
  a flashlight. Then he hit the nash and was just as careful
  v•ith it. shielding the beam with his hand and body.
  The old Enfields that the guards outside carried were
  probably blinds. Either that or these men had not been trained
  yet on all the more modern hardware in the cave.
  There were crates upon crates of M-16s, AK-47 assault
  rifles, Berettas, and Uzi submachine guns. Most of them
  were still in grease. and there was more than enough spare
  ammunition to start a small war.
  Carter discarded the Enfield. He draped two trlts of 9mm
  ammo over his chest in magazines, and slung a lightweight
  Uzi over his shoulder.
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  In other crates he found mortars, shells, and every con-
  ceivable kind of rocket and missile being manufactured all
  over the world.
  In smaller crates to the side, he found enough plastique
  explosive along with timers to blow up half the country.
  He would have liked to take a launcher and some of the
  'surface-to-surface missiles, but packing them around would
  have slowed him up too much.
  He satisfied himself with a heavy-duty utility belt and
  stuffed its pouches with explosives. He wound a baker's
  dozen of the timers together and hung these around his neck.
  As quietly as possible, he stacked crates together until
  he could climb back up them to the hole.
  The last thing he did before leaving was jam a timer into
  a whole box of plastique and set it to go boom in fifty-five
  minutes.
  On the outside, everything was still quiet under a starry
  sky. Below, there was hardly any movement in the camp.
  He started about fifty yards around the cliff from the cave
  to lay the charges. The first one was set for eight minutes
  after Miguela would start her show, the next ten seconds
  later, and so on, After the first charge was set, he spaced
  them out about eighty yards apart around the boulders half-
  way up the cliff face on the opposite side of the gorge from
  the way Prida and his men would be attacking,
  He hoped.
  Eventually, he worked himself around and down until he
  was at the rear of the larger of the two bunkhouses. He had
  six minutes until Miguela went, and a man was sitting on
  the back stoop of the bunkhouse smoking and drinking a
  If Carter approached him from the rocks, the man would
  wonder. If he shot him, the alarnn would be given too early.
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  NICK CARTER
  He couldn't use the commando knife at his belt. To throw
  it he would have to stand up. and the distance was too great
  
  
  
  
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  a manwassnun
  the back stoop of the bunkhouse smoking and drinking a
  If Carter approached him from the rocks, the man would
  wonder. If he shot him, the alarnn would be given too early.
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  NICK CARTER
  He couldn't use the commando knife at his belt. To throw
  it he would have to stand up. and the distance was too great
  for complete accuracy.
  Carter was about to move on and plant the last charge
  somewhere else. when the man stood. He tossed the beer
  can away and headed right for the Killmaster, unbuttoning
  his fatigue pants.
  He was two steps into the rocks when Carter came up
  from underneath him. The knife went in between the fifth
  and sixth ribs, and on up.
  Caner eased the body down silently and padded to the
  rear of the bunkhouse.
  He made a large ball out of the last glob of plastique he
  had, jammed in the timer, and rolled it through the crack
  in the door.
  Back in the rocks, he moved the rest of the way to the
  end of the compound and the smaller of the two bunkhouses.
  Through the partially opened door he could hear voices.
  There was no way of telling how many were inside, but
  from the bits and pieces of conversation, he learned that
  these men—and probably those left in the larger bunkhouses
  —were the reserves. At the sign of the first attack, they
  would roll out and play backup. That is, if the frontline
  defenses along the top rim of the canyon didn't wipe out
  the attackers before they got to the valley floor.
  Carter checked the Uzi, put a spare magazine in his left
  hand, and checked his watch.
  He didn't have to.
  From the other end of the compounds he heard fists pound-
  ing on wood and the faint sound of Miguela 's raised voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  He chanced a look over the rocks. Two men were half
  agging, half carrying Miguela across the compound to the
  ger hut where Carter had been interrogated. Four or five
  n had poured out of the larger bunkhouse, armed, and
  ere running toward them.
  'Jhey conferred, and the five headed for the hillside behind
  e hut recently vacated by Carter, Prida, and Miguela.
  As yet the men in the smaller bunkhouse weren't aware
  the new wrinkle.
  Carter didn't think much alarm would be raised yet.
  licia and crew would try to find them first. Too much
  ovement and noise might rattle the attackers and spoil the
  ttle ambush.
  Miguela was in the hut. Carter gave her all but twenty
  onds of the last three minutes to spill her guts to the
  woman, then he moved.
  The first room inside the bunkhouse was a kitchen. One
  an, a hulking type, was at the door of an old-fashioned
  box. He half turned at the sound of Carter entering, and
  Åbbed a hand at the .45 on his hip.
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  Carter stepped forward and raked the butt of his own .45
  down across the man's forehead and nose. The man partially
  deflected the blow with his arms, uttering a hoarse exclama-
  tion of pain as the skin of his forehead burst open and blood
  erupted from his nose.
  He staggered backward, reaching for his pistol again.
  Carter stepped forward, lifted himself to his trs, and put
  his weight behind the butt of the automatic as he chopped
  it down across the man's face.
  Bone and cartilage crumbled, and thick droplets of blood
  splattered on the side of the white ice box as his head
  snapped back and he toppled against it. Bottles inside tinkled
  and fell overas it rocked from side to side. He began folding.
  Carter chopped the automatic down again, then again.
  beating him to the floor. His knees collapsed. and he sank.
  Carter pounded the butt of the automatic down behind his
  ear as he went down, and finally lay still.
  The Killmaster moved to the door leading into the main
  barrack room. He had to wait only another couple of seconds.
  When the first explosion, far away, by the cave went off.
  he shouldered his way through the door, firing.
  Bunks lined the wall. There was a pool table in the center
  of the room with two men sitting on it talking. Nearby, four
  others sat around a card table.
  The Uzi barked and bucked in his hands. He cut down
  two coming out of their bunks and one at the card table on
  the first burst. The burst threw the man back, blocking his
  buddies' line of fire for the moment.
  He shifted. The faces and shirts of the pool table pair
  became pocked with large red spots. Gouges appeared in
  the green felt of the pool table, and the window behind it
  turned into a shower of glass,
  Back to the card table. Two men were getting up, pulling
  pistols from shoulder holsters. The bark of the automatics
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  sounded weak and ineffectual after the chatter of the Uzi in
  the enclosed airspace. The heavy 9mm bullets struck the
  man on the right side of the table in the chest. It finished
  lifting him out of his chair and pitched him forward, and
  his ams flailed limply as he went down.
  The other man had his pistol out of his holster and was
  starting to level it at Carter when he squeezed the trigger
  again. Blood spouted as half the man's throat was tom away,
  the bullets exploding on impact and tuming into shards of
  lead ripping through flesh. The man's pistol flew through
  the air, and he spun and slammed to the floor.
  There was a soft scuffling: one of the men by the pool
  table and the man who had been shot through the chest
  thrashed in the convulsions of approaching death. The one
  by the pool table grunted softly with each jerking contraction
  of his body, and the other one drummed his heels against
  the floor in a quickening rhythm. Pools of blood spread
  around them, a dark, wet black on the green felt. The sounds
  and movements faded, then stopped as death claimed them.
  Then there was no movement in the room except for the
  swirling clouds of smoke.
  Carter ran to the front door. opened it a crack, and looked
  out. Everything was chaos, with the plastique still going off.
  Three men were running directly toward the front porch
  of the bunkhouse. Carter waited until they were less than
  twenty yards away. Then he kicked the door all the way
  open and flopped out onto the porch on his belly.
  He got all three of them with the first bursts raking across
  their guts, Two went down and didn't move. The third came
  to his knees trying to bring up his rifle. Carter sent him
  home with a short burst in the chest, and then raced back
  through the bunkhouse,
  Outside the rear door, he dived for the rocks as the rear
  of the larger bunkhouse became kindling. Screams of pain
  178
  NICK CARTER
  reached hisears as he ran through the rocks to the rear of it.
  He crawled up a large boulder. got himself in a good
  
  
  
  
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  NICK CARTER
  reached hisears as he ran through the rocks to the rear of it.
  He crawled up a large boulder. got himself in a good
  prone position. and rammed a fresh clip in the Uzi. Four
  of them came out the front, blinded by fear and rage. They
  ran in every direction, firing randomly at nothing.
  Carter put the Uzi on semi-auto, and took them out one
  at a time before ttry got his position.
  Then he took a few seconds to check the action. Prida
  had split his men. Some of them had stayed on the other
  side of the rim, popping the defenders on top. Two small
  groups had come on over and then turned back to get them
  from the rear. Only a handful of rebels were left on the
  floor of the canyon now, and they seemed to be milling
  around the headquarters hut, confused.
  In the very center of the compound, Carter could see that
  the chopper was still intact.
  Then Felicia Damita and two men came out onto the front
  porch of the hut. Carter couldn't see their faces, but from
  the body language he could tell what they were thinking.
  The war wasn't going well for the home team.
  About the only side of the canyon that was still holding
  was the one above the cave. Over there. Carter could see
  men popping up every now and then on the rim, but they
  had nothing at which to fire.
  That was because Prida, as per Carter's instructions, had
  stayed far away from the west side.
  Five seconds later, they all found out why. There was a
  muffled roar, and then the whole top of the rim came off.
  One large orange ball headed skyward with plumes of smoke
  behind it.
  It was time for Carter to move again and give Felicia the
  last little push she would need to get the hell out of there.
  He came into a crouch and started running toward the
  headquarters hut.
  BOLIVIAN HEAT
  179
  A man with a rifle suddenly appeared txtween two trees
  p ahead. He caught sight of Carter coming at the same
  •me and twisted to bring his rifle to bear. Carter blew his
  ad off with a concentrated blast.
  
  
  
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  last little push she would need to get the hell out of there.
  He came into a crouch and started running toward the
  headquarters hut.
  BOLIVIAN HEAT
  179
  A man with a rifle suddenly appeared txtween two trees
  p ahead. He caught sight of Carter coming at the same
  •me and twisted to bring his rifle to bear. Carter blew his
  ad off with a concentrated blast.
  There was a scraping sound behind him. The Killmaster
  pun around and fired twice in rapid succession. He finished
  e spin and saw one of the heavy slugs cave in the chest
  a man on a rock above hims flinging him off the rock
  d slamming him into a tree behind it.
  A bullet from another direction whispered past Carter's
  e, the crack of the rifle that fired it coming at the same
  He dived behind a pile of rocks and. without losing his
  omentum, scrambled along to come out the other side for
  look. He peered around the edge of the rcxk, very slowly,
  ry carefully.
  The rifle had stopped firing. But he could make out the
  lace that hid it: bushes and rocks jumbled together at the
  of a low slope. Hugging the ground, he began spacing
  Ots into them.
  The rifle slammed back at him from the hiding place;
  bviously too well down in cover for him to hit. He got
  ck out of sight and waited until the rifle stopped firing.
  en he eased forward and triggered the rest of the clip into
  e hiding place, fast, just to keep the gunner's attention.
  It did more. The man staggered from his hiding place,
  into the ground, and fell on his face.
  Carter moved forward around the side of the hut. He had
  en only a few steps when he heard the front slam.
  ropping to his belly. he wriggled the last few feet to the
  ont corner.
  Felicia had taken the bait. She and Miguela were running
  the chopper. Right behind them, each carrying two heavy
  itcases, were the two men who had backed her in the hut
  
  
  
  
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  itca.ses, were the two men who had backed her in the hut
  NICK CARTER
  180
  when Caner was interrogated.
  Carter set the Uzi on single fire. He would have liked to
  have taken out the two men, but a strong shot might have
  hit one of the Women.
  The next best thing was to just nudge them along.
  He fired at their feet, always just to the side, right up
  until they were in the helicopter.
  •The rotor spun, the engine coughed a few times, and then
  it caught. Without even waiting for a proper warmup,
  Miguela lifted off.
  Carter put a few past the canopy just to convince them,
  and the chopper sailed away.
  Suddenly there was little sound other than occasional
  gunfire from the east rim and the fading chopper.
  Carter stood. From the south wall, Prida emerged from
  the rocks and trotted toward him. In his left arm he carried
  a field phone.
  "How did we do, amigo?" Carter asked, grabbing the
  field phone and unbuckling the canvas wraps.
  "A lot of bangs and bruises, two wounded, not seriously."
  "And the other side?"
  "Twenty-two dead. two got away down the side of the
  mountain, and we have two up there in a pocket." He ges-
  tured toward the east ridge. "They won't last another ten
  minutes."
  "The women?" Carter asked. watching the dials glow
  brighter and brighter on the phone.
  "Eight of them, all docile. They're locked up in the kitchen
  shed."
  'Good." Carter picked up the hand mike. "Flyby, this is
  Beacon. Do you read?"
  S *Loud and clear, Beacon. This is Flyby One. Gimme a
  few seconds for a fix."
  Carter waited. The firing on the east rim had stopped.
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  They had them all. He saw Prida's men start to come out
  of the rocks.
  "Beacon, we have a fix. Our ETA seventeen minutes."
  "Roger, Flyby. You do have company?"
  "Oh, yes, Beacon, lots of room."
  "Roger again," Carter said. "Norway, this is Beacon."
  "Got you, Beacon. Signal going south loud and clear.
  IWe are five miles back and holding. " It was Norris's voice.
  "When you get touchdown and locate, remember it's
  mine, Norway."
  "Wouldn't have it any other way, Beacon. Out."
  Carter turned to Prida.
  "You heard. seventeen minutes. Have your men start the
  fires. Make sure they leave nothing behind for Carmine
  Calvos and his Bolivians to find when they get here, not
  even a cigarette butt. When they come in, all they find is
  the result of a drug war. Calvos doesn't want to know any
  more than that."
  "S(, SÉ, amigo. "
  Prida trotted off. Carter hunkered down and lit a cigarette.
  By the time it was a butt, he heard the moan of the two
  choppers that would take them out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  EIGHTEEN
  In the car from the chopper. Norris gave him the closest
  thing possible to a rundown on the grounds, the exterior of
  the house, and its owner.
  "And you haven't told Calvos?" Carter asked.
  don't think he would want to know that our Charcas
  Man is Rudolfo Rosero. If he did, there wouldn't be much
  he could do without more proof than we can give him."
  Carter smiled. "Then I assume I just handle it my way?"
  "You do," Noms replied, and then chuckled. "I don't
  even want to know. By the time you're back out of there,
  want to be far away."
  It had all gone well. Prida and his people would be back
  in Mexico by now. Cannine Calvos and the Bolivian army
  would be cleaning up the mess in the mountains. In the
  moming, the newspapers would have the story that two rival
  drug gangs had clashed near Apolo. There would be no
  mention of the arms cache buried under a mountain of stone
  and rubble.
  Only one more loose end.
  Norris pulled the car under some trees and Carter slipped
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  more than that" 1
  BOLIVIAN HEAT 181
  They had them all. He saw Pride's men start to come out of the rocks. "Beacon, we have a fix. Our ETA seventeen minutes." "Roger. Flyby. You do have company?" "Oh, yes, Beacon, lots of room." "Roger again," Carter said. "Norway, this is Beacon." "Got you, Beacon. Signal going south loud and clear. We are for miles back and holding." It was Norris's voice. "When you get touchdown and locate, remember it's mine, Norway." "Wouldn't have it any other way, Beacon. Out." Carter turned to Pride. "You heard, seventeen minutes. Have your men start the fires. Make sure they leave nothing behind for Carmine Calvos and his Bolivians to find when they get hem, not even a cigarette butt. When they come in, all they find is the result of a drug war. Calvos doesn't want to blow any
  Pride trotted off. Carter hunkered down and lit a cigarette. By the time it was a bun, he heard the moan of the two choppers that would take them out.
  
  
  
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  EIGHTEEN
  In the car from the chopper, Norris gave him the closest thing possible to a rundown on the grounds, the exterior of the house, and its owner. "And you haven't told Calvosr Carter asked. "I don't think he would want to know that our Charms Mao is Rudolfo Rosero. If he did, there wouldn't be much he could do without more proof than we can give him." Caner smiled. -Then I assume' just handle it my way?' "You do," Norris replied, and then chuckled. "I don't even want to know. By the time you're back out of there, I want to be far away." It had all gone well. Pride and his people would be back in Mexico by now. Carmine Calvos and the Bolivian army would be cleaning up the mess in the mountains. In the morning, the newspapers would have the story that two rival drug gangs had clashed near Apolo. There would be no mention of the arms cache buried under a mountain of stone and rubble. Only one more loose end. Norris pulled the car under some trees and Caner slipped
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  184 NICK CARTER out. He was all in black and had his own weapons back. rescued from the desk in the headquarters hut. He was sure they were all ha would need. He leaned back through the window of the car and stared at Norris. "Molinari re salummus." "What the hell is that?' Norris asked. "We who are about to die salute you." Norris shuddered. "Don't even joke about it." "I always do," Caner said, and grinned wickedly. "It puts a nice edge on He moved off, disappearing quickly in the darkness. He walked quickly into the dimness of the uphill toner lighted politely by a single lamp at the crest. One light below, one above. Dark in between. Good. He went along the stone fence until it ended, paused beside the corner marker of the property, and disappeared M the darkness tented around him by the fine of trees. Carefully, he felt along the upright bars set close to the tree trunks and set Funny into thick concrete. The fence was in good shape. layered by rustproofing coats of paint and ar-ranged with its tall pickets interlocking with a crossbar. A toehold, the crossbar. Caner pushed on it, then waited for several seconds. When nothing happened, he leaped high for two pickets, caught them, and braced a foot on the supporting iron. From there he worked higher, easing up until one hand found a tree limb. He tested it for strength, then pulled himself to the top of the spearpoint pickets and over along the branch to the rougher hole of the nee. From there it was a drop of only a few feet to the ground, and he covered it like a falling cat, loose-legged and spread to hind on all fours. Hunched low to the earth, he scanned the ground ahead, marking positions of hedges and flower beds, orienting him-self to a light from the back of the big house.
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  BOLIVIAN HEAT 195
  He checked the skyline. looking up from his spot tight against the grass, looking fora shadow that didn't fit with the others, for a black shape moving against background stillness. Nothing. He went quick and low to the lust box hedge, made himself part of it, and hunkered a while, listening. smelling the green leaves, scenting the night around him. He darted through the trees to the house and crawled along the foundation until he found a window. Basement windows usually opened inward, and this one was no excep-tion. It swung to his touch, making only a tiny squeak. He rolled to his belly and backed through the window. When he was stretched full, he dropped with barely a sound to the floor. A quick search with the penlight told him it was the wine cell.. He located the stairs and went up them one at a time. Muffled noises, voices, came through the door. Too muf-fled. He opened it a crack. It was a laundry room. On the other side was the door to the kitchen. It was already open a track. Carter slipped through and crouched. Now he could make out the voices clearly. "Erasmo, you are my brother, but I can protect you no longer. I have whored for you, covered for you. and even covered your botched mistakes. Now you will do as I say." "You mean, what he says." Carter moved forward and peered through the crack. It was Felicia Damita. She stood over a handsome, almost effeminate young man. glaring down at him. He was one of the men Caner had seen getting into the chopper with her. An older woman all in black stood at the stove stirring something. That, Carter thought, would be one of Rosero's three sisters. Now and then she would throw a glance over
  186 NICK CARTER her shoulder at the other two. It looked as if she
  
  
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  186 NICK CARTER her shoulder at the other two. It looked as if she were enjoying the argument "What he says." Felicia continued, "is what / say. You and Hector will take what he gives you and go to Spain, tonight." "I don't want to go to Spain. I want to go with you ..." "You will go, Erasmo. You are my brother, but—" "What about the woman, the pilot? Why are you keeping her around if I have to go?" "Because Rosero and I might need her later if anything is traced to us. We may have to leave quickly." "Shit," he snorted, "she's beautiful. You probably want her for yourself!" Felicia sidearmed him, hard enough to knock him out of the chair and halfway across the room. "You bitch!" A Beretta automatic appeared in his hand. "Go ahead! Go ahead, you ingrate! But remember, if you do, you won't end up with enough even for Spain!" She turned and stalked from the room. Dulciana turned from the stove. the pan in her hand. She slopped some of its contents into a bowl, and glared at the young man. "Eat. It's not good to travel on an empty stomach." She laughed and followed Felicia. Carter had a choice. Evidently, they were waiting until the smoke cleared. He could wait, particularly if this Erasmo and Hector were leaving. It would be two less to handle. Suddenly the bigger one, Hector. came through the door. He dropped an envelope on the table. "He gave us both one. That's yours." Erasmo checked. "Fifty thousand! Those two suitcases got six million in dope, and he gives us a hundred grand?" Hector put his hand on the other man'sshoulder."Erasmo. I don't want to cross him. He says, take the old station wagon, coma over into Chile. Drive down to Santiago and
  BOLIVIAN HEAT 187
  fly out of there. Erasmo, I am going to do it. That fat one up there has long arms. I won't cross him. Are you coming?"
  
  
  
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