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Lydell Harmon wasn't a man who visually inspired
confidence. He seemed to be constructed of all odds and
ends of body parts. His chest and torso were broad, almost
barrel-shaped. His waist was as big as his chest, and his
hips as big as his waist. There was little grace about him,
for his arms and legs appeared to move in opposition to
his body.
But he was the best bomb man in England, according
to Dakin, and he had taken over with a vengeance.
Now he approached Carter with a grim face.
"We're down to the lid of the box from the top," he
growled in a no-nonsence voice. "We've also tunneled
in from the side under the box."
"And?" Carter said.
"There's a bomb. all right, a bloody bad one with a
tricky double detonator."
"So," Caner said, forcing his voice to remain calm,
"what do we do?"
"I gather the target isn't living up to his part of the
bargain?"
Carter shook his head. "He won't answer."
"Then we'll have to do it ourselves. There's a pressure
pad directly under the woman. She's lifted up at all, takes
her weight off the pad, and boom. Follow me."
Carter followed him over to the grave and gazed down.
About two inches of dirt still covered the lid of the box.
From a hole near the top at the break between top and
sides, the pipe extended.
"She'll probably trust you more qhan anyone else,"
Harmon said. "You game?"
"Just tell me what you want me to do," Caner replied.
"Okay, you're going to be on top. I'll be below. Don't
let her move as you lift the lid. Get into the box with
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her. Get your hands under the small of her back. As the
lads pull her out, you keep the pad depressed. Got that?"
"Got it."
"When she's out, I'll disconnnect the wires to the
trigger device on the pad. But that's not all."
"An alternate?"
Hamon nodded. "Our boy wasn't taking any chances.
I'm going to rig a cut-around to the alternate with a long
breaker wire. We can't stop the blow but we can delay
it for maybe sixty seconds."
"Long enough for us to get the hell out of here."
"You got it, laddie," Harmon said. "And one more
thing .
"Your boy was lying to you."
"About what?" Carter asked.
"The unit on the bomb is not a receive unit. It's for
send only."
"That means he couldn't blow the bomb by remote
control . . ."
Harmon shook his head. "No way. When the boom
goes, an impulse goes out, not in. You ready?"
"Why not," Carter growled, easing himself down in
to the hole and leaning forward until his face was close
to the lid.
. it's me, Nick."
"Ravelle . .
"Yes."
'Can you hear me?"
'S Yes." She sounded out of it.
"Ravelle, it won't be long now. You must do exactly
as I say. You must not move when lift the lid until I
tell you to move. Do you understand?"
"What?"
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Carter heard groans from the men at graveside above
him, and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Again, slowly, he everything. This time he
got an affirmative answer from her.
"All right, I'm going to dig the rest of the din from
the lid and then lift it. Don't move, and keep your eyes
closed. Are you ready?"
"Yes . I understand."
"Good girl."
Rain shrouded them now as Carter started to dig with
his hands through the last layer. He tasted dirt and he
got it in his eyes as he threw it over his shoulder.
Then, slowly, talking to her all the while, he lifted the
lid.
She was on her back, her face turned to the side. The
end of the pipe was in her mouth, and the water was
eddying around her ears.
Good God, Caner thought, another half hour and she
would have drowned.
'*Don't mOve, baby. For God's sake, don't move."
He tugged at the pipe. She grabbed for it, tried to get
it back into her mouth.
"No, Ravelle," he yelled, "quit fighting! You don't
need it now!"
Miraculously, she did.
He moved down and slid his hands between her legs,
then outward.
"Lift your legs ... not your hips, your legs, hear me?"
Slowly, the legs came up and Carterslid his hands under
the small of her back.
"Harmon?"
"I'm down here."
"I've got pressure on the pad."
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"All right. lads, get her wrists and ankles and ease her
They did. Carter ducked his head, and Ravelle's body
isappeared above him.
"Got her!" a voice called. "She's out!"
"Good show," Harmon said. "Now get clear your-
Ives. all of you!"
There was the slap of feet on soggy grass, and then
athly silence.
"You're doin' fine, lad," Harmon said to Carter. "Just
et ready to dive out and run like hell when I give you
e word."
"How do you know,' • Carter asked, "that the impulse
nder unit isn 't to detonate another bomb in the area?"
"I don't," Harmon chuckled. "But jt looks to be set
p on a high frequency. That would normally mean long
hope you guess right," Carter said, almost blind
ow with the sweat in his eyes.
"So do 1. You ready?'
"Ready."
"Then go, laddie!"
Carter took a deep breath, lifted his hands from the
ad, and leapd from the grave. He scrambled from his
nees to his feet and, with Harmon right tRside him, ran
'ke hell.
They were nearly two hundred yards from the grave
nd the blast still knocked them off their feet.
Roeario Duncan barreled out of the small lane onto the
3072. In an hour he would be at Hartland Point. There
e would hide until dark. when an obliging fisherman
ould, for five hundred quid, take him to Ireland.
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Duncan had friends in Ireland who would hide him
until all was quiet and another boat could smuggle him
to France.
He had done it! He had gotten away with it and he
was rich!
He was laughing wildly, rolling the throttle to full,
when the Colestar AV200 unit on his belt began to heat up.
Inside it, a tiny wire from a microreceiver unit glowed
red for only a millisecond, and then ignited the thrce
ounces of plastique that had been layered into the unit.
It was not a huge explosion.
Just enought to cut Rosario Duncan in half.
FOURTEEN
At seven o'clock in the morning. the rains had stopped,
the clouds had drifted away, and sunshine permeated the
drawn blinds. Carter roused from his sleep and found
himself in an armchair. He blinked sleep from his eyes
and it wouldn't go away. Finally he oriented himself,
and remembered.
A cleanup crew in the west, a chopper into London,
Ravelle into the emergency ward, and Carter passing out
on his feet from fatigue. A driver had brought-him to the
AXE flat where he had tried to make the bed, but had
given up in the armchair without even removing his
clothes.
His mouth felt like the Russian front and every bone
in his body ached.
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NICK CARTER
Hoisting himself with a graon, he stumbled to the bath-
room. He gargled with some mouthwash, rinsed, and
spat. Then he went back to the bedroom, trailing clothes
behind him, and picked up the phone. The hospital
number picked up at once.
"Special Ward, Sayers speaking."
"Miss Sayers, Nick Carter here. How's our patient?"
"Resting comfortably, sir."
"And the final diagnosis?"
"Shock, of course, and exposure. There were no inter-
nal injuries and her bruises weren't serious."
"Good. She isn't raving anymore?"
"No, sir. The sedative worked fine. She's sleeping
well."
"Any prognosis on when we can get a statement?"
"I believe the doctor is going to let some chaps from
your office talk to her this afternoon."
"Thanks." Carter hung up and dialed the hot line at
Special Branch. "Carter here. Anything new?"
"The motorcyclist was definitely our man. Got an ID
on him, one Rosario Duncan, small-time hood, minor
record."
"Nothing on the German?"
'SNO, sir, not yet."
"Please call me at one o'clock," Carter said. "And let
the phone ring until I answer."
"Will do, sir."
'Thank you."
He went to the bed, slid into thescool, clean sheets,
and slept until the ringing Of the phone woke him.
It was Ernie Nevers from the Home Office. "I'm mak-
ing your wake-up call myself to apologize."
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"Yes, for not reading between the lines. I think we've
had some wires crossed on communications between
agencies, Nick. But they're uncrossed now. We're finally
pooling information again, and it's hot. We're all meeting
with Hart-Davis in Whitehall at three."
"1'11 be there."
Carter went over the statement that had been taken an
hour earlier from Ravelle Dressler:
And twice I heard him on the phone to someone
who must have been his superior ... and twice he assured
the person that the timing would be perfect, the ship
would be loaded and back at sea before any authorities
caught on .
he stressed this .
Carter set the statement down and picked up the Scot-
land Yard report on a double homicide. He scanned it,
set it aside, .and looked up at the men assembled around
the conference table.
"What about the woman?" he asked.
free-lance prostitute. Horst Layman had a back-
ground of abusing women. He was indicted twice for it
in Germany, but never convicted. Mrs. Dressler's de-
scription of the two men fit Layman and Duncan per-
fectly."
"Okay," Carter sighed, "that mystery is solved."
Jonathan Hart-Davis nodded. "And it looks like the
mystery of why is solved as well, Nick. I'm just sorry
we didn't put it all together right from the moment the
woman was kidnapped. Now it all fits."
Carter grunted his agreement. "El Adwan wanted me
out of the way, and he wanted to stall all of us until he
makes a try for this supertanker, the Thor I."
Avery Hopkins, head of the International Maritime
NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
Commission, spoke up. "The problem, as I see it, is
time. Is this terrorist, El Adwan, and his lot already on
the ship? And if he is, what will his demands be?"
Carter thought on this for a moment before he replied.
"I think it's back to the source. There is little doubt now,
with the connection of Oliver Estes and Horst Layman
to both Abu El Adwan and Hannibal St. James, that St.
James is behind this. My fear is El Adwan. Is he doing
this just for money? Or does he have a dual purpose?"
"Such as . . . Hart-Davis asked.
c 'El Adwan," Carter said, 'Vis a supreme egotist. Scut-
tling the Thor I for money would be one thing. But scuttling
the ship for profit while building his owns stock as a man
who will do anything would be an added plus. I think
we must go to Hannibal St. James himself and get the
original plan before we can guess how El Adwan will
deviate from it."
There was a general chorus of groans around the table,
until the Lloyd's representative, Sir Charles Dunwood,
spoke up.
"I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Carter."
"All well and good," said Ernie Nevers, "but every-
thing we have is circumstantial. It all links to St. James,
but it may take months to prove it. And months we don't
have."
"Then we bluff," Carter said. "Bluff and intimidate. "
"Nick," Nevers replied, "we can't—
' 'You can't," Carter growled, "but I can. Sir
Charles
"How good is this Carolyn Reed?"
"The best. She is a graduate maritime engineer. For
the past several years her specialty has been these be-
hemoth tankers."
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151
'God. I'll be in touch with her after St. James. Where
is the Thor now?"
Sir Charles Dunwood replied. "In the Persian Gulf,
off Kuwait. She took on provisions and topped her own
fuel tanks during the night."
"And the crude?" Carter asked.
Dunwood looked at his watch. "They should start load-
ing about five our time."
"Jonathan," Caner said, turning to Han-Davis, "can
you get to the Kuwaitis?"
"I'm sure the P.M. can."
"Then do it, and very quietly. Instead of crude in those
tanks when the Thor I sails, J want water in them."
"I suppose that can be done," Hart-Davis replied. "But
why don't we just give a stop-sail order?"
"Because," Carter said, "if El Adwan is already on the
ship, I don't think he'll hesitate to blow it right there.
How many officers and crewmen are on board?"
Sir Charles did a quick shuffle of papers in front of
him. "One hundred and eighty-six."
" 'Nuf said," Carter replied. "I assume Horst Layman's
flat has been searched?"
"Stripped," Claude Dakin said.
"All right," Caner said, "I'll need a top-notch stenog-
rapher and your best forger. Let's get to work!"
No pier or harbor in the world was large enough to
handle the Thor I. For this reason, the behemoth tanker
was anchored a half mile from the main port of A1 Kuwait
in the Persian Gulf.
Captain Alonso Wakefield stood at the front of the
bridge and watched the last of the huge foodstuff contain-
ers being craned down into the hold. Halfway between
the ship and land he could see two tugs makingfor the
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Thor I. Between them they carried the huge tube that
would soon be pumping a million barrels of crude into
the tanks of the ship.
The first officer stepped onto the bridge and smartly
saluted the skipper. "Foodstuff containers all on board,
sir, and our tanks are topped off."
"Good, Mr. Richardson. How soon can we start pump-
"About an hour, sir."
"Excellent. Tell the lads to step lively. And for God's
sake, make sure there are no mistakes on the hookup."
"Yes, sir."
Jordon Conover was the head engineer for all pumping
operations at the huge port of A1 Kuwait. He was British,
and employed by the Kuwaiti government. This evening
he would supervise the biggest operation of his life and
the first of its kind in the world.
He parked his car and craned his neck to see the huge
tanker offshore as he walked toward his office.
"Good aftemoon."
"Good afternoon, sir," replied his secretary, and
handed him a stack of messages.
"Get me Obar on the phone right away."
"Yes, sir."
Conover laid the messages on the desk. He removed
his jacket and hung it on the back of his swivel chair.
He pulled down his tie, opened his •itt collar, and sat
down in his swivel chair just as the phone rang.
"Hello, boss."
"Obar, how are we doing?"
"They are sleeving up the cord now. We're running a
little behind schedule. Should be ready to pump in about
an hour."
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*'Good." Conover said, rising and pacing in front of
the big window that overlooked the enorrnous white tanks
that swallowed and stored the crude as it poured in from
the far desert. "Don't move a valve until I get there. I
want to check everything one time myself."
"Will do, boss."
Conover hung up just as a long Mercedes limousine
pulled up below his office window. The rear door was
opened and a white-robed figure emerged and hurried
into the building.
"My God," Conover said aloud, "what the hell is he
doing here?"
He met his visitor at the door and bowed him into the
office.
"Your Excellency, I'm surprised, to say the least.
Please, sir, sit down."
"There is no time for amenities, Mr. Conover," the
dark-skinned man replied in precise Cambridge English.
"I have a request that we must discuss at once."
For the next ten minutes, Jordan Conover stood, his
arms at his sides and his jaw agape, as his visitor spoke.
"Can this be done, Mr. Conover?"
'S Yes, Your Excellency, it can be done. But may I ask
Why?"
"No, not at the present time."
"Let me understand this completely. You want me to
fill the Thor I's cargo tanks with seawater?"
"That is correct, Mr. Conover. And I want the fewest
possible workmen to know about it."
"You realize, sir, that the expense will be enormous?"
The man smiled. s The expense will be far greater if
anyone on the Thor I discovers what you are doing, Mr.
Conover. See that they don't."
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When someone is killed on your very doorstep, the
best place to be at the time of the murder is somewhere
else, surrounded by witnesses . . as many as possible.
This especially holds true if you are responsible for order-
ing the execution in the first place. Surrounded by witnes-
ses, and with trusted people carrying out the actual killing,
you have an established alibi hard to ignore in court.
It's a matter of common sense, and one that Hannibal
St. James adhered to in all things.
That was why, immediately after ordering Horst
Layman on his errand and being reasonably sure that El
Adwan was in place for the hijacking of the Thor I,
Hannibal St. James had departed his immense estate in
Surrey, He had come by helicopter to his almost equally
lavish estate on the cliffs above Lyme Regis in the south
of England.
In his party were a film director and his wife, an aging
star, two executives from a French auto company who
wanted St. James to buy their failing company, and vari-
ous minor officials of his subsidiary companies and their
wives.
In such company he was safe and he had an alibi. That
was why, on this balmy afternoon, he felt at ease and at
peace with the world as he stood in his third-floor bedroom
and watched his guests frolic by the pool below.
"Mr. St. James? Hannibal St. James?"
St. James whirled. The man was big, well over six
feet, with black hair. a granite face, and piercing eyes.
He was dressed in a pair of blue coveralls, and carried
what looked like a toolbox in his hand.
"Who are you? What the hell do you mean—
"My name is Caner, Mr. St. James, and we're going
to talk."
Carter went near, measured, drew a deep breath, and
struck
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stmck. It was a clean jolt, with all his weight it,
straight to the chin. Hannibal St. James went down and
out and lay breathing stentoriously on his thick-piled car-
pet.
First thing, Carter pulled the pants off the resting man.
Underneath he was wearing shorts, which Caner also
tugged off. When you're naked you lose your dignity,
and loss of dignity loosens the tongue. Carter had other
arrows in his quiver and he intended to use them all.
He dragged St. James to a massive armchair and set
him into it. Then he used the friction tape from the
to tie him into it. Then he tested. He had him good.
Hannibal St. James was firmly affixed. He was as much
a part of the armchair as the upholstery.
Carter a bottle of Chivas Regal. He put ice and
water into a pitcher. He took the bottle, the pitcher, and
a glass to an end table beside a chair facing the im-
mobilized man. He lit a cigarette, sat, drank, smoked,
and waited. Finally St. James his eyes.
"Well, hello there," Caner said cheerfully.
"You bastard, what do you want?"
"Your cooperation, Mr. St. James. Or your ass."
"Go to hell."
"Assuredly I will one day," Carter offered, "but in the
meantime I might send you ahead of me."
"Do you know who you are dealing with?"
"I sure do," Carter replied, his toolbox and
spreading papers in front of the other man. "The biggest
fish I've ever hung out to dry."
'41 ' II hang the American government out to dry for this
"Ah," Carter said, "I see you are quite aware that I
am a government agent."
St. James clamped his jaw shut and glared.
"Your hired killer is in the Old Bailey right now, St.
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NICK CARTER
James. Here is his signed confession, four pages. I think
you'll notice that he names you, quite specifically."
Carter slowly flipped the pages. making sure that St.
James read every word and took in the perfectly forged
signature.
"And here is the signed confession of one Rosario
Duncan, It doesn't implicate you, of course, but it does
state that he has worked for Layman in the past, on illegal
deals of which you or one of your companies was the
prime beneficiary."
s 'They are lying. The word of two criminals against
my word?"
Carter shrugged. "Here is an indictment that will be
filed against you and your companies at nine tomorrow
morning by the International Mantime Commission, for
the instigation of piracy on the high seas. And this indict-
ment is by Lloyd's of London, for attempted fraud. It,
too, will be filed tomorrow morning."
• St. James, cool-eyed but sweating, laughed. "They
can stand in line. I've had thirty indictments filed against
me in as many years. None of them ever stuck."
"True," Carter said, "but when they are filed in con-
junction with the Thor I's sinking, your stock on the
London and New York exchanges will plummet. That,
along with your losses and Lloyd's tying you in knots
for years, will practically bankrupt you."
A full minute passed. "What do you want?"
"The entire setup with El Adwan and what he plans
to do with the Thor I."
Time passed. A lot of time passed.
Carter could sense that Hannibal St. James was begin-
ning to fly distress signals. He was sweating, twitching,
involuntarily nodding. His lips were dry and he was swal-
lowing a lot of air.
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Carter smoked and sipped his drink.
157
When the answer came, the Killmaster was surprised,
He actually thought that he had nailed the old thief.
"Carter. or whoever you are, I don't have the slightest
idea what you're talking about. I have never heard of
this El Adwan. Mr. Horst Layman was fired from my
employ a week ago. My accountants will substantiate
that. As for this Duncan you speak of
I've never
heard of him."
Carter got tense but held his ground. "And Oliver
Estes?"
"A good man, but flawed." St. James replied. "Also
fired from my employ. I have proof that for years he has
been embezzling from my companies."
The guy was no wimps Carter thought as he mashed
out his cigarette and finished his drink.
"Mr. St. James, you're a hard and clever man."
From the small of his back, Caner took a short-barreled
.22 revolver. Methodically, he removed shells from his
jacket pocket and slipped them into the gun.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"It's small, only a twenty-two, but the shells are hol-
low-point. One •of them going in your left ear will do
about the same damage as a forty-five."
"You're crazy!" St. James said, laughing but without
any humor. "Even if you do it, you won't get ten feet.
There are forty people out by that pool!"
"That there are, Mr. St. James, but the doors are closed
and the music by the pool is loud and a twenty-two caliber
revolver doesn't make much of a bang."
Silence. The squat, heavy body strained against the
tape. The veins of the neck bulged, jaw muscles
to tight knots. The eyes were filmy.
Caner flipped the cylinder closed.
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NICK CARTER
"We'll leak everything to the papers tonight. Naturally,
reporters will be calling you. You will realize that your
plan has failed. You won't be able to stand the dis-
grace . .
"What? Me? Kill myself? Nobody would believe it!"
"Ohs I think they will." Carter said, taking an official-
looking document from his pocket and crossing to the
desk.
"What is that?"
Carter floated it in the air for a second and dropped it
in the top drawer. "It's your permit for this gun, dated
six months ago. It's very official, Mr. St. James, I assure
you. The master copy is on file at Scotland Yard."
"Good Lord, man, this is cold-blooded murder!"
"That it is, Mr. St. James. that it is." Carter moved
toward him, idly holding the revolver in his right hand.
St. James squirmed and lurched against the tape that
bound him. The sweat ran in rivers on his face and body.
Carter could smell him.
"What the hell kind of a man are you?" he said, his
voice almost a squeak.
"A bad man, Hannibal, a very bad man."
Carter freed his left hand. St. James tried to swing on
him, but before the blow landed, Carter had shoved his
thumb, hard, into the soft part at the front of his shoulder
just below the collarbone. The left arm immediately went
limp.
"What the . . . ?'
"Frozen, Hannibal. I bruised the ITerve. Your arm will
be that way, useless, for about three minutes. There's
another nerve in your hand, right here between the thumb
and first finger .
does the same thing."
Carter squeezed there. and the fingers that had been
fluttering immediately went limp. The Killmaster then
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placed the gun in St. James's hand and wound the fingers
carefully around it. He brought hand and gun up before
St. James's eyes. Carefully, he pulled the hammer back
until it clicked.
"You still think it won't look like suicide, Hannibal?
See, I even know you're left-handed."
The man's chin sank down as his eyes closed. There
was froth on his lips.
Carter brought the hand and gun up. He ground the
barrel into St. James's left ear.
"Good-bye, Hannibal."
"All right .
. all right, dammit. I'll tell you what I
Carter removed the gun from his ear and St. James
leaned forward and vomited.
"They're probably on board by now."
"How?" Carter said.
St. James was still shaking like a leaf and now he
really stank. "For God's sake, man, untie me and let me
Clean
' 'In the foodstuff containers. They're stored in the aft
hold near the galley. They went into them last night after
they were loaded in the warehouse."
"How many are there?"
"Thirteen, plus El Adwan himself."
"All fourteen in the containers?"
Silence. Carter clicked the hammer on the revolver.
"No. One was planted before the ship left Japan. He's
the third assistant cook. "
"What's his job in the operation?"
"Food poisoning, the evening meal."
"That means they hit tonight."
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NICK CARTER
"Yes, around midnight."
"And what's the sailing time?"
"Five in the morning."
Carter thought for a moment. They were probably out
of the containers already and spread through the bowels
of the giant ship. There was even a good chance that in
the vastness of the supertanker they had already started
to plant explosives.
"What's the plan once they've taken the ship?"
"They sail through the Strait of Hormuz, around Oman,
and into the Indian Ocean."
"You're doing good, Hannibal. Keep doing good."
"Once they clear the Gulf of Oman, they break radio
silence . . . make their demands."
"And those are?"
"Fifty million American dollars, dropped by helicop-
ter. "
"And then?"
"They set the charges and then transfer to a freighter.
When the freighter is safely in Aden, they radio back the
combination to the master circuit to cut off the deto-
nators. "
Carter leaned forward and put the gun in St. James's
crotch. "That's the plan for Lloyd's benefit. Now, what
really happens, St. James? I know you don't want that
ship inspected. It has to be sunk."
The man's jaw was shaking so much he could hardly
speak.
it was a trade-off. El Adyan is going to sink
it in the Strait of Hormuz, crosswise in the channel."
"Jesus," Carter growled.
The Strait of Hormuz is the only access to the land-
locked Persian Gulf. Block it with something the size of
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161
161
the Thor and it would be years before the Gulf was
usuable again.
"Let me fill in the blanks," Carter growled. "You re-
coup the loss of the Thor I from Lloyd's, scrap the Thor
II, and because of the instant Oil shortage caused by the
cutoff of the Persian Gulf, your Octagon reserves around
the world double in price. Right?"
Carter had risen and moved around behind the man.
As he spoke, he had withdrawn a hypodermic ampule
from the toolbox.
"Well, Hannibal, that's about the way it's supposed
to go, isn't it?"
"Yes . . .
yes," the man gasped.
"What about the hundred and eighty-odd crewmen?
Any provision for them?"
Silence.
"And the oil? A sea of crude oil in the Indian Ocean.
Evidently you didn't give a shit about that, did you,
Hannibal?"
Silence.
"Who's their lookout in Kuwait, Hannibal? They have
to have someone making sure they aren't nailed before
they get the Thor moving. Who is it?"
Silence.
"Who is it!"
it's my chief dispatcher. He has an office in
the harbor tower."
"Thanks, Hannibal. Have a nice sleep, you son of a
bitch."
Carter stuck the hypodermic into his neck.
FIFTEEN
"Nick, this is Colonel Vernon MacCreedy."
Carter shook hands with a man that had him by three
inches in height. He had straw-blond hair and a cheerful
face with dancing blue eyes. He looked like a young
lawyer, a businessman, or someone who should be staring
out of a television set with a beautiful woman on each arm.
As the Killmaster had observed so often in his long
and rather eventful career, looks could indeed deceiv-
ing.
A year before, MacCreedy had walked up a flight of
tenement steps in Northern Ireland with only a handgun
and a shattered left shoulder to take out four terrorist
gunmen.
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"Your men on board, Colonel?"
163
"An even dozen, sir, combat ready and with all the
gear you asked for."
'They're all volunteers, Colonel?" Caner asked.
MacCreedy smiled. "The whole SAS is volunteers,
sir. "
Carter turned to Jonathan Hart-Davis. "How are we
"Full cooperation of the Kuwaitis. They look the other
way, we do our own laundry."
"Landing clearance?"
Hart-Davis nodded. "We've got it all the way. Here
comes your final passenger."
Carter turned just as a four-door Rover pulled up beside
them. The woman inside didn't wait for the driver to
come around and open the door for her. She opened the
door herself and crawled out.
Carter really hadn't imagined Carolyn Reed, but even
if he had he wouldn't have imagined this. She was tall,
quite beautiful, and quite angry.
"Miss Reed, thank you for coming. I'm Jonathan Han-
Davis."
She swung her briefcase to her left hand and shook
hands with her right. "It's about time someone paid some
attention to my report."
"Er ... ah, yes. This is Nick Carter. He'll be in charge
of the operation."
"You're the American."
"That's right."
"l won't hold it against you."
"Thank you," Caner said. "Shall we board?"
She led the way to the gaping open hatch of the big
cargo jet.
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NICK CARTER
When they were leveled off, MacCreedy huddled his
men around Carter and Carolyn Reed. The woman opened
her briefcase and passed a blue-jacketed folder to each
of the men.
'These are detailed, deck-by-deck plans of every inch
of the Thor I." When this was done, she turned to Carter.
"All right, what do you need to know?"
"One hundred and eighty-some men. Where would the
terrorists put them to keep them out of their hair? With
a ship as big as the Thor, there has to be one or more
blind spots from the decks or superstructure. Where are
they? In case of high-powered automatic fire, what can't
we hit? Where are the stress points in the holds that
explosives would do the worst and quickest damage?
That'll do for a start."
Carolyn Reed let a tiny smile curl the comers of her
lips, took a deep breath, and started to teach.
Alfredo Dinebar slipped through the opening in the
deck of the number two engine room and slid down the
rungs of the ladder.
He had just finished his watch, but he wouldn't be
heading for the galley and evening chow just yet. Alfredo
wanted •a smoke, and the kind of cigarettes he smoked
didn 't go over too well with some of his fellow crewmen.
Lighting up and dragging the acrid smoke deep into
his lungs, he moved aft along the walkway
between the inner hall and the huge ait storage tank.
"Ah, man. lotsa crude. If I had just some of that crude,
I'd never have to ship out on one of these stinkin' wagons
again."
Dinebar dropped down to the lower "B" level and
DEATHSTRIKE
tumed into the valvewav be
165
165
tumed into the valveway between the two aft tanks. Just
as he made the turn, he slid to a stop.
One of the big walkway templates had been lifted on
end, and over the hole two men were feeding wire down
to a third.
Jesus, Dinebar thought, a damned repair division crew
and I walk right into them!
Quickly, he mashed out his cigarette and fanned the
air around his head. He was about to step back around
the corner, when he was spotted.
"Say, man," Dinebar said with a laugh, "we ain't even
out of first port and the damn thing 's fallin' apart already.
How about that, man?"
The repairman was three feet from Alfredo when his
hand came up holding a silenced 9mm Beretta.
He shot Alfredo Dinebar directly between the eyes.
The light rap on the door awakened Captain Alonso
Wakefield immediately, He came up to a sitting position
on his bunk and snapped on the light.
The brand-new Rolex his wife had given him for his
new command said eleven o'clock.
"Yes, yes, come in," he called.
"Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but we've got a prob-
lem. "
"The umbilical cord?"
"No, sir, the pumping is going fine. We have a tank
and a half full, fore and aft. They will soon be switching
to the last two tanks."
"Well, what is it, Mr. Richardson?"
"It's the mid-watch, sir. Over half of them have re-
ported to sick bay with stomach cramps."
"Half the watch?"
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166
"Yes, sir."
"All right. Get volunteers for overtime off the eve-
watch, and have the cook send sandwiches up. Any idea
what the hell it is?"
"No, sir. But I've told the infirmary to let us know
whenever they find out."
"All right, Mr. Richardson. I'll be up, Can't sleep
worth a damn anyway."
The first officer backed out, and Captain Wakefield
started to pull on his pants.
Damn: he thought, haven't even taken on payload yet
and thé malingering has already started!
Caner looked around at the grim faces in the semicircle,
nodded his satisfaction, and turned back to Carolyn Reed.
"Good job. That's the most comprehensive crash
course on supertankers I've ever heard. "
"Thank you," she replied, and turned to the men her-
self. "Any further questions?"
"Yeah," said a fresh-faced young sergeant. "What's
yer favorite pub in London?"
Carolyn smiled. ' 'Why do you ask?"
"Obvious, ain't it? I want to run into ya!"
She laughed. "Tell you what. All of you come through
this without a scratch and I'll throw the party."
"Attention, attention," the intercom blared. "We're one
hour from set down. I have received word that your
ground transportation is ready and waiting."
Colonel MacCreedy tumed to Carqr. "I've already got
an idea or two."
"Me, too." Carter nodded. "Let's hash it over. "
"Do you need me?" Carolyn asked.
"It would help," Carter replied.
' snen you've got me."
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She stood and with the two men moved forward to the
lighted chart table just aft of the cockpit.
"Bridge, this is Dobbin."
"Yes, Chief, this is the Captain."
"Captain, I'm getting a strange reading in the loaded
tanks."
"How so?"
"I'm showing more intake than capacity. And, also,
the sway ratio is off. "Ihe damn stuff is splashing around
in there like beer in a barrel."
"Are your tanks balanced, Chief?"
"Aye, sir."
"Then recalibrate the gauges and give me another read-
ing."
"Aye, sir."
"Captain . . e"
"Yes, Mr. Richardson?"
"It's food poisoning, sir."
' 'Oh, Christ. How bad?"
"Minor serious, sir. But it's hit some of the day watch
now."
"How many able men do we have?"
"Thirty-three crew."
"Any officers?"
"No, sir. Evidently it didn't hit the wardroom galley."
"Ail right. Get volunteers for overtime, and log it."
"Aye, sir."
"Abu?"
"Yes. "
"All of our people are in place. Less than a third of
the crew are on deck."
"The time?"
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NICK CARTER
"Eleven-forty."
"We move now."
The big jet had scarcely rocked to a halt when men
poured from the dropped hatch. In minutes the equipment
was unloaded and reloaded on two personnel carriers.
Behind the personnel carriers, a gray Mercedes sedan
was parked with a uniformed officer in the driver's seat.
"Nick Carter."
"Major Assad Dalfi, Mr. Carter. Here is the informa-
tion you requested."
Carter snatched the sheet from the man. "Clark Magam,
fluent Arabic .
thanks."
born Yorkshire, 1950 .
He ran to the rearofthe first carrier. 'Colonel ... "
"Yes, sir?"
"I know you have six men fluent in Arabic. Do any
of them speak English with a Yorkshire accent?"
"l do, sir. Name's Lamb."
"Come with me, Lamb. Colonel, I'll meet you."
Carter, with First Sergeant Arnold Lamb at his heels,
ran back to the Mercedes.
"Let's go, Major. You know where."
"Yes, sir!"
Clark Magam lowered high-powered field glasses and
rubbed his eyes. It was five minutes until midnight. They
would be close now, probably on the move.
He leaned over to a pipe rack, took a pipe, filled it,
tamped it, lit it, and produced evil.melling fumes. He
was a little man with a seamed face, a nearly bald head,
and a sepulchral voice. He was nearsighted and wore
heavy-rimmed glassed, thick-lenses glasses behind which
his eyes swam like fish in a bowl.
DEATHSTRIKE
But he could see well enough for thi night's w
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169
But he could see well enough for this night's work.
And this night's work would give him more money than
he ever dreamed of.
He had always told himself that doing whatever the
old man asked—and asking no questions about it—would
pay offl Two days from now he would out of this
hateful place and back in England.
He was about to raise the binoculars back to his eyes,
when the locked door behind him burst from its hinges.
He got only halfway turned before his eyeglasses were
knocked from his face and a fist flattened his navel against
his backbone.
"Get his glasses!"
Magam's glasses were reinstated and he saw a gun
nearly a mile long being waved in front of his eyes.
Behind the gun was a grinning face and the meanest pair
of eyes Magam's had ever seen.
"Know what this is? It's a nine-millimeter Luger with
a silencer. It comes with hollow-tipped slugs dipped in
cyanide. Anywhere shoot you, you die. Do you want
to die?"
$ Good, Mr. Magam from Yorkshire, because I don•t
want you to die. But if you don't answer all my questions
as fast as I ask them, I'm going to shove this silencer
down your throat and blow the back of your head all over
that window."
Mr. Clark Magam couldn't answer fast enough.
'Captain, Dobbins here . .
'WYes, Chief?"
"Sir, I don't know what the hell ... sir, my hatch .. e"
Suddenly there was a burst of automatic rifle fire on
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NICK CARTER
the intercom and the garbled scream of a dying man. The
scream was still echoing off the three officers on the
bridge when there was an explosion. The locked hatch
to the bridge exploded from its bolts and the whole area
was filled with acrid smoke.
First Officer Richardson was farther from the hatch
than the others. When he saw the two men—machine
pistols at the ready —emerge through the smoke, he dived
for the weapons on the nearby bulkhead.
He barely got the case open when a burst from one of
the machine pistols shattered his chest. He was thrown
over the main bank of computers and slammed to the
deck, dead.
The man who had fired—tall and rangy, with long
black hair and a heavy, flowing beard —jammed the barrel
of his pistol into the belly of the Thor I's stunned skipper.
"Captain Wakefield, my name is Abu El Adwan. I
am in the process of relieving you of your command."
"The bloody hell . . g"
The blow from the steel butt of the machine pistol
came so swiftly that Wakefield didn't even see the move-
ment. It struck him in the shoulder, driving him back,
and before he could regain his balance the barrel sliced
a deep, three-inch gash in his cheeki
"You will do as I say, Captain Wakefield, or every
man under your command will be shot. Do you under-
stand?"
Silence.
The two men stood glaring at one another, neither
blinking.
"Do you understand!"
"I will not give up my ship to bloody terrorists."
EI Adwan turned to the other officer. He flipped the
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171
171
machine pistol to single shot and killed the officer at
point-blank range.
"Do you understand, Captain Wakefield?"
The captain swallowed, blinked his eyes once, and
then averted them from the young officer's corpse. "I
understand. ' '
El Adwan found the proper switches on the ship's inner
communication console, and began using them.
"Radio rcx)m?"
"This is Antonia, Abu. The radio room is secure."
"Familiarize yourself with the equipment. I'll be right
back to you."
One by one, El Adwan went through the ship's stations,
and one by one he found them secure.
"Abu, this is Jadak at the main power plant."
"Yes, Jadak?"
"Five hands on duty. We have three. The two others
are in the heating and air-conditioning plant and refuse
to budge. "
"Are you in communication?"
"We are."
'Then give the two of them one minute to surrender.
If they don't, inform them that you will shoot their mates
one by one until they do."
"Right away."
"My God," Wakefield gasped, "you're a barbarian!"
"Not at all, Captain. I am a businessman, and, at times,
a patriot. Now, shut up."
El Adwan made some calculations on a pad of paper.
He checked them twice, and then turned again to
Wakefield.
"By my tally, I am missing eleven men. You will call
on all stations for any man hiding on the ship to surrender
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NICK CARTER
himself to my people. They will have five minutes. If
all hands are not accounted for by that time, I will begin
executing men in the forward crew quarters."
The captain knew he had no choice. He stepped to the
console and flipped the all-stations switch.
"All hands, attention all hands. This is Captain
Wakefield. We have been taken over by terrorists. They
are in control of the ship. It is futile, lads. Give yourselves
up and save your mates."
"Excellent, Captain. Pour yourself a cup of tea. In
fact, pour two."
In ten minutes, El Adwan ran through the stations
again. All hands were accounted for.
"Antonia?"
"Here."
"Contact Jellyfish!"
Carter's eyes burned as he stared through the night
glasses at the bulk of the Thor I. All the floods and
above-deck lights were on. The only movement was on
the tugs as the fitters constantly checked the flow and
the huge clamp that held the pumping tube to the side
feed of the ship.
"If they're moving, they sure as hell aren't showing
themselves," he growled.
Beside him, SAS Sergeant Lamb merely grunted in
reply, adjusted his volume and frequency controls, and,
now and then, glanced over at the trussed-up figure of
Clark Magam.
"It's a quarter past twelve. Unless they met resistance,
they should have touched base by now." Carter moved
to Magam as he spoke. "You see that commando knife
on the sergeant's belt?"
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"Yes ..
173
Magram was petrified. Carter was surprised he hadn't
already peed his pants.
"Let me tell you, Magam, that the sergeant can
three quarters of the skin from your body tefore you'll
die."
"For God's sake, man, what do you want?" Magam
cried. "I've told you everything!"
"Have you, Magarn?" Carter hissed. "Have you given
us the right frequencies?"
"I swear.. . "
Suddenly the two three-inch speakers above the console
crackled to life.
"Got something, sir . . ."
Cafier moved quickly back to Lamb's side as a
woman's voice came through the speakers.
"Jellyfish, this is Shark. Shark calling Jellyfish. Come
' 'This is Jellyfish, Shark. Over."
"I read you nine and fine, Jellyfish. Over."
"You are four and floating, Shark. Can you ease up
with a test?"
"Going up . . .
test . . . test . . . test . . . "
"There, Shark, lock in. You are eight and steady.
Over."
There was silence for a few seconds, and then a man's
voice, speaking guttural Arabic, came on.
"What is the first star in the desert night?"
"The one that shines the brightest," Lamb replied in
barely accented Arabic, and Carter squeezed his shoulder.
The woman's voice returned. "We are secure, Jellyfish.
What is your Over."
"Port side, bow, to about one hundred yards short of
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NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
stern. Around bow on starboard side almost amidships.
Over."
"Thank you, Jellyfish. We will adjust. Fifteen-minute
checks unless you spot something. Clear? Over. "
"Clear, Shark. Out."
The two men sighed in tandem relief.
"They bought it," Carter said, and returned the glasses
to his eyes.
Less than a minute later, he saw men floating out onto
the upper decks. No firearms were showing, but that
meant nothing. Each of them moved to man a lookout
spot beyond Lamb's range of vision.
All of them were in place when the remainder of the
starboard spotlights came on, flooding the sea with light
for nearly a hundred yards.
"Time to go," Caner said. "You've got the picture?"
"Yes, sir. One-ten sharp, I spot surface movement off
the starboard bow."
"Good man."
Carter raced to the door and down the stairs to the
waiting Mercedes.
SIXTEEN
Each and every one of the SAS men was a highly
trained machine. When they moved, they did it with
stealth and grace. Hardly a sound was made and there
was no wasted movement,
Fifteen minutes before the planned diversion, four men
equipped with finger-gripped suction cups went up the
seven-story-high hull of the Thor I. Twenty yards apart
on the starboard side, thirty yards aft the hull, they looked
like tiny gray crabs moving through a field of rust.
They covered the height in exactly two minutes and
seven seconds. Another five seconds to clamp three
blocks of stronger, clamp-held devices, and four ropes
spiraled down the side of the ship. The ropes were knotted
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175
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NICK CARTER
every thirty inches so the men climbing always had a
handhold, and were stabilized by the insteps of both feet
on a knot.
Two minutes Jellyfish would alert Shark to sur-
face movement off the stern to starboard, all thirteen men
hung, swaying gently, seven stories above the sea.
"Shark, this is Jellyfish. Come in!"
"Go ahead, Jellyfish."
have surface movement about two hundred yards
off your stem, starboard side. Over."
"Can you identify? Over."
"Negative, Shark. It would help if you could lift a
couple of the starboard floods."
"Will do, Jellyfish. Keep me informed. Out." Antonia
Perini shook the blond hair from her eyes and flipped the
console switch marked Bridge.
"Abu . .
"Here."
"Jellyfish has a sighting about two hundred yards off
the stern, starboard side."
"A boat?"
"Surface movement. He wants you to lift one or two
of the starboard floods."
"I'll take care of it."
El Adwan lifted the walkie from his belt and instructed
the five lookouts. Instantly, two of them were scampering
up the ladders on the starboard side of the superstnlcture
toward the floods. The other three hh the rail themselves,
night glasses to their eyes.
At MacCreedy's hand signal, the top four men rolled
over the bow lip and hoisted themselves to the main deck.
They had barely flattened out—almost invisible in their
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177
hooded gray wet suits against the matching deck—when
four more men followed.
Once again there was no wasted time or movement.
The first four men moved thirty yards to the two massive
screens guarding the air intake for the air-conditioning
plant far in the bowels of the ship. By the time
the last man had scrambled over the bow, the screens
were off and the first four were already descending.
Again, like crabs, using the sneakers on their feet and
the fins—worn over their sneakers while swimming—on
their hands, they made their way down the slick steel
sides of the vents, seven to a side.
Neither of the enormous fans were turning. In fact they
were hardly ever operational in port. Smaller fans,
generator-powered, saved fuel when the ship wasn't mov-
ing.
When the screens were off, each of the men slithered
between the blades into the lower vent area. This was
level, and twenty feet into it was the repair trap. Once
through this, they crawled along a narrow catwalk above
the huge unit itself. A hatch at the end of the catwalk
opened into the engineer's ready room.
It was empty.
Two by two, they emerged from the catwalk hatchways
and padded silently to the hatch leading into the forward
power plant. MacCreedy cautiously rose until he could
peer through the window.
It had been three minutes and forty-one seconds since
the first four men had come over the bow.
"Jellyfish. this is Shark. We have spotted nothing,"
"The light helps, Shark. I can't see it now either. Guess
I'm just jumpy. Over."
"Better to be safe, Jellyfish. Stay with me. Out."
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NICK CARTER
Sergeant Lamb lifted the glasses and sighed with relief.
They were all up, over, and out of sight before the five
men drifted back to their assigned places.
MacCreedy turned to Carter. He held up one hand and
curled all five fingers.
Five prisoners.
He held up one finger on his other hand.
One guard.
Carter nodded and slipped in beside him, the silenced
and compact Sten Model IV up and ready.
MacCreedy spun the revolving lock on the watertight
hatch. It moved silently. When it stopped, the colonel
turned to Caner.
The Killmaster nodded.
The hatch was yanked open.
Carter fired a three-shot burst from four feet, tearing
the side of the man's head off as he was turning.
In four seconds, all the SAS men were in the forward
engine ready room and Carter was interrogating the chief
engineer.
No, there had been no call down from the bridge since
the initial takeover. Yes, the five of them had been left
below to monitor the pressure gauges and keep checking
the automatic oilers.
As Carter asked questions and got answers, the two I
men who would be part of his unit moved in behind him.
There would be three units, with Carter's designated Unit
One. Unit Two—with five men commanded by Colonel
MacCreedy—would move forward to free the crew. Unit
Three—under Major Culham—would search for and dis-
mantle the explosives.
Units Two and Three had already moved out when
Carter gave his last instructions to the chief engineer.
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179
"If any of them show up down here, use his gun and
don't be sad about it."
"It'll be a pleasure, sir."
Carter, followed by his two men, moved up to "A"
lower level and aft.
Fourteen terrorists all told, with one dead and five as
lookouts on the main deck. Carter guessed that El Adwan
would be on the bridge with at least one other man.
That left six they would have to find.
The Killmaster hoped against hope that the scenario
that Carolyn Reed had set up for them was at least eighty
percent accurate.
"Saed, this is Abu. How is it?"
"Steady. They are on the last two tanks ... approaching
half."
"What do you estimate?"
s 'A little over an hour."
"Excellent," El Adwan replied. "Let me know the mo-
ment they top off."
Ten feet from the blown hatch of the tank control room,
Carter heard the man's voice and halted.
Using sign language, he gestured one of his men for-
ward. The SAS man dropped to his belly and, like a
snake, slithered forward until he was flat on the floor
adjacent to the hatch.
One quick look and he held up one finger. Carter gave
him a thumbs-up sign, and backed down the passageway
with his second man moving in step.
They went up another deck and then aft again until
they were directly below the forward section of the
superstructure. Carter dropped to a hunkering position
and took the walkie-talkie from his belt. Livingstone, the
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NICK CARTER
remaining man with him, checked the passageway to the
next turn and nodded back.
Caner depressed the red alert button once and waited.
A two count later, the red light on his own walkie blinked
twice. Another two count and it blinked three times.
Colonel MacCreedy and Major Culham were in areas
where they could talk.
"Caner here. 'A' upper-level deck. Ready to go up.
Valve control is covered. One man. Colonel?"
"Two of them in the forward crew quarters. Covered.
J am at the aft crew quarters now. Two here, as well.
Over."
"Major?"
"So far, Miss Reed has been right on the nose. We
have hit six jackpots, all exactly at the hull stress points
where she guessed they would be. Over. "
"Are they neutralized?" Carter said.
"Yes wait a second .. It was more like ten. "Sir?"
'Go ahead," Caner said.
"We just found the first one on the tanks. Sir, it's
remote-controlled like the ones on the hull, but it's locked
into a relay. If we crack it, sir, it will automatically pulse.
Over."
"That means it can't be cracked? Over."
"Maybe, sir, but it's going to be tricky. We'll have to
dismantle in the exact sequence or we'll all go boom,
sir. Over."
"Okay, Major, stay with it. Out."
Carter made a mental note. If radio was manned
by a woman, and she was alone, and there was one with
El Adwan on the bridge, they had all fourteen accounted
for.
"Jadak
. Jadak, Abu here! Can you hear me?"
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181
181
For the third time, the inner-ship line from the engine
room came alive, but only with buzzing and crackling.
If there was voice in there, El Adwan couldn't hear it.
"Dammit, Jadak .
"We have been having trouble with that line since we
left Japan," the captain lied, his knowledge telling him
that, with the ship's sealed communications units, that
kind of steady interference could never occur.
El Adwan turned to the dark-haired woman at the door.
"Pilon, go down to the forward engine room and check,
just in case."
"As you wish, Abu," she replied, and left.
"Antonia?"
"Yes, Abu."
"Anything more from Jellyfish?"
"Nothing beyond the last regular check."
El Adwan checked with the rest of his people and
found them all in place and everything quiet.
He was just turning from the console when Captain
Wakefield lunged at him. It was an unskilled and stupid
charge, considering the bigger man's swiftness and dex-
terity.
El Adwan countered the blow easily and slammed the
butt of his machine pistol viciously against the point of the
older man's jaw. Wakefield dropped like a stone to
the deck, and the terrorist leader kicked him viciously
in the side.
' 'Stupid old man!"
The communications center was one deck below the
bridge and just forward of it. Carter was halfway up the
last ladder to that deck, with Livingstone right behind
him, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching
on the steel deck of the passageway above.
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Both men slid back down using the handrail, and darted
through the nearest hatch, closing it behind them. It was
the chart room, and through an open hatch Carter could
see radar equipment. Leaving the other man to guard the
hatch, the Killmaster did a quick recon. Finding both
areas empty, he returned.
"Sir, it's a woman," Livingstone whispered, nodding
toward the passageway.
Cautiously Carter eased his head up until he could peer
through the double glass. A short stocky woman wearing
fatigues, a handgun holstered at her hip, and with an
AK-47 slung over her shoulder, was walking forward to
the next ladder.
"Well, now," Carter murmured as she disappeared, "I
wonder if that's our radio operator."
Major Bryan Culham peered over the shoulders of the
two crouched men with sweat pouring off his forehead
into his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then sighed as
the plastic case came apart and there was no mishap.
"Six wires," one of the men said, "just like the other
four. "
"Are they in the same sequence?"
"Yeah, but nothing tells me which wire is the relay. "
"Damn," Culham said. "Let's try the last one."
At the top of the ladder leading down to the forward
ready room that controlled one Of the two massive diesels,
the brunette called Pilon paused.
"Jadak? .
Jadak, are you there? Is everything all
right?"
There was no answer.
Pilon unlimbered the automatic rifle from her shoulder
and moved down the ladder, step by step. At the bottom,
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183
she went to her knees and dived, belly-up, through the
hatch. The moment she hit the deck she covered the room
with the muzzle of the weapon.
Nothing. Empty. No sign.
And then she saw it, a dark stain on the green deck
padding. Cautiously, she touched it with a finger and
tasted.
Blood.
Alert now, using only seconds, the woman moved in
a wide arc around the stain until she found a drop of
blood, and then another, until it became a trail. It led
her toward the starboard walkway and then down, toward
the lower decks and aft.
Colonel MacCreedy left his final two officers to cover
the two terrorists, and went forward again. Amidships,
he went down to the lowest deck level and checked his
position.
He was two hatches away from the generator room.
Pilon paused to orient herself. She was on the lowest
level of the ship now, just about amidships, and moving
fonvard.
The trail of blood had petered out twice, but by trial
and error she had picked it up both times. The last spot
was a foot in front of the hatch that led into the generator
room.
She crouched and cautiously moved forward. The spin
lock wouldn't rotate. The hatch was locked from the
inside.
What would Abu want her to do? Was the blood
Jadak's? Or had he killed or wounded part of the crew
and this is where they fled, with Jadak pursuing them?
The decision was made for her when she peered through
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the double-thick windows. They were masked. That could
mean only one thing.
She set aside her gun and took two blocks of plastique
from her utility belt. Quickly, she molded the puttylike
explosive into the cracks around the hatch, liberally at
the lock and two hinges. A mercury detonator with a
ten-second fuse was inserted into the mass, and then she
pushed the small button on the call box the hatch.
Faintly, she could hear the attention buzzer inside through
the hatch.
She put her lips close to the call box. "I know you are
in there. I don't know what you have done with my
comrade, but I am giving you ten seconds to open this
hatch or I will blow it open. Do you hear me?"
Three seconds passed and then a voice. in Cockney
English, replied. "We've got yer man in here and we've
got his gun. If ya blow the door, I'll kill him."
"Let me speak to him."
Pause. "No."
Pilon smiled. "I think Jadak is already dead. I'll give
you to the count of three. One
"Don't move, don't even twitch, or I'll cut you exactly
in half."
Pilon's whole being, her mind-set, was made up of
instincts. Instantly, she rolled to the side, grasped her
gun, and kept rolling. Out of the corner of her eye she
saw the figure in the gray wet suit.
She came up on one knee, but her right hand wasn't
fast enough.
All six slugs from the Sten's double three-shot burst
stitched her body from pelvis to breast. She died before
her body hit the bulkhead.
The gray wet suit moved to the hatch and gently re-
moved the mercury detonator from the plastique. He then
DEATHSTRIKE
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185
tugged the woman's bloody body away from the bulkhead
so it could be seen from inside the generator room.
This done, he leaned toward the talk box himself. "This
is SAS Colonel Vernon MacCreedy. I need to get in
there. Take the mask off the window and take a look."
Carter and Livingstone had just hit the passageway
about thirty feet from the open hatch to the radio room,
when their question was answered.
"Shark, this is Jellyfish."
"Go ahead, Jellyfish."
"Fifteen-minute check. Nil, all's calm and quiet.
Over."
"Check, Jellyfish. I'm told topping off is about ten
minutes. We should be making way in an hour. Out."
Caner and Livingstone traded satisfied looks. Obvi-
ously there were two women. And the one they had
srx)tted coming down had been descending from the
bridge. The short brunette had been the "man" with El
Adwan.
And then they got another break. Antonia Perini spoke
again.
"Bridge, are you there, Abu?"
"Yes. The fool of a captain tried to take me."
"Oh, God," said the woman. "Did you have to kill
A laugh. "No, but he'll be sailing us toward the strait
with a broken jaw. Anything from Jellyfish?"
"All clear."
"Check."
Now they knew that Abu El Adwan was indeed on the
bridge.
Carter motioned Livingstone forward until he was
positioned outside the radio room, just as the other SAS
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NICK CARTER
officer was positioned outside the valve control room.
Then Carter slithered back forward and moved around
the enormous superstructure until he was at the ladder
leading up to the bridge.
The red light on his walkie-talkie was blinking.
"Carter here," he
' 'MacCreedy. I've killed one of them, a woman."
"Short, built wide, dark hair?" Carter asked.
S' You've got it. I'm in the generator room. I'm leaving
my walkie with the chief engineer, name's Harris. You
can give him the word on cutoff."
"And?" Carter said.
"We have two AKs. I'm taking two of the crew with
me topside. We can cover the five lookouts."
"Good thinking," Carter said. "That makes it com-
plete."
Yeah, he added to himself, complete if Major Culham
and Unit Three don't blow us to hell!
He lifted the walkie-talkie back to his lips.
"Jadak . . . Pilon . .. dammit, somebody down there
answer me"'
El Adwan slammed his palm against the console and
cursed again.
His senses, tuned over years of living on the edge,
were telling him something was not right. First Jadak,
and now Pilon.
What the hell was going on?
"Kroil .
Kroll, where are you?"
am on the fantail, main deck. What is it?"
"Get down to the forward engine room. Jadak and
Pilon should be down there, but I can't get an answer
out of them."
"What's wrong?"
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187
"Dammit, if I knew I wouldn't be sending you down
there. Move!"
El Adwan slumped into the captain's swing chair, and
for the tenth time checked the loads in his AK-47 and
pistol.
Then he fingered the battery-B)wered pulse-sender on
his belt, the unit that, with one twist of a dial and one
push of a button, would send them all to hell.
"Major . . . Carter here."
"Yes, sir," Culham said, making a conscious effort to
keep his voice level.
"How is it?"
"The search is complete, sir. Six jackpots on the hull,
all neutralized. We have found eight more on the tanks.
We are opening the last one now."
"And . . s?"
"Nothing to report further until we get it open, sir."
"Are you sure you've got them all?"
"Yes, sir. We've done two complete sweeps and that's
it, unless they've placed some above decks. And, accord-
ing to the Reed woman, that would be highly unlikely."
'SAnd you agree?"
"l do, sir."
"All right," Carter said. "We've got two dead and all
the rest are covered. Our main honcho is on the bridge,
alone. I'm going up now."
"Good luck, sir."
"Good luck to you, Major. And for God's sake, if you
find the relay key. let me know right away."
"Will do, sir."
Major Culham returned the walkie to his trlt and again
dropped to his knees beside the two men working over
the small plastic box.
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NICK CARTER
188
"Anything?"
"Maybe, just maybe," one of them replied. "See the
fresh solder on the blue and white wires?"
"I see it."
"It's the same on the rest of them. They've changed
the order from the way the wires were originally set up. "
Culham ran a finger along his forehead and flicked
away the sweat. "That probably means either the blue or
the white is the relay."
"Yes, sir, it does."
"Question is, which one?"
"Yes, sir, that sure as hell is the question."
Carter heaved himself up over the top of the last over-
hang and crawled forward through the maze of radio
antennae and radar scoops until he was just at the edge.
From here he had a clear view directly down into the
bridge.
The forward, port, and starboard sides of the main
bridge were all glass. He could see Captain Wakefield
sitting in a swivel chair holding his head in his hands.
The only other occupant was Abu El Adwan . . . tall,
bearded, long black hair—obviously a wig—to his shoul-
ders.
Catter sighted the Sten.
There was only a fifty-fifty chance that a burst would
get him before he could hit the pulser at his belt. The
thick glass would deflect the slugs.
One large pane of the window was open. Each time
El Adwan spoke into the control console, Carter could
hear every word.
Now, if the man would only walk in front of the open
window. .
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"Yes."
"We're topped. The tugs are leaving now."
189
"Good," El Adwan replied. "We'll get under way at
once. Kroll, where are you?"
"Engine room. No sign Of Pilon or Jadak."
"Keep looking. We're about ready to go."
"Major," Carter whispered into his walkie-talkie,
"what's our status?"
"We might have it. We've got it down to two wires ...
one blue, one white. We're testing."
"How long, man?"
"Sir, it's impossible to tell."
Carter thought. ney didn't have time. El Adwan was
getting nervous.
"Major, if the tanks blow, how long do we have
the ship goes down?"
"Probably a good twenty minutes, sir."
Time enough to get the crew out, Carter thought.
"Major, run a bypass and pick a wire. Is everyone else
on?" There was a series of affinnative answers. "All
right, everyone with your night glasses on. Chief Hanis?"
"Here, sir."
"Get ready to cut the generators."
"Ready, sir."
The wait went on for minutes. Caner could see that
El Adwan was beginning to sniff the wind.
Then the word came.
'Culham here, sir. We've run a bypass. I'm guessing
blue. When we cut, it's twenty seconds."
"Go, Major," Carter growled, in his mind seeing
everyone ready to take out their targets.
"It's a cut," Culham hissed.
Carter—and, he was sure, all the SAS men—were
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NICK CARTER
sweating out a pound a second. He forced himself not to
blink as he watched the sweep-second hand of his watch.
twenty . . . twenty-one.... Good
. nineteen
guess, Major. Chief Hams?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Kill the lights. Everybody .
The instant the lights went dead, Carter opened up
with the Sten on full automatic. Carefully, he kept his
fire away from the captain.
It had the desired result.
El Adwan fired a burst in reply, and reached for the
pulser. When nothing happened, and Carter's slug from
a new magazine started finding his range, he leaped from
the hatch.
The Killmaster dropped to the next deck and gave
chase.
El Adwan fired until his magazine was empty. then
he discarded the AK-47. Now he was on the main deck
and running aft, with Carter still firing.
MacCreedy appeared before him and El Adwan veered
left into the officers' quarters. Just as he did, one of
Carter's slugs caught him in the thigh.
Carter dived through the hatch into the officers' mess.
El Adwan was against the far bulkhead, a pistol held in
both hands.
"Give it up, Adwan," the Killmaster hissed. "By now
all your people are dead or captured. " Carter could see
El Adwan's face in the moonlight through the big port-
holes.
"I know that voice . . .
you're Carter. "
"That's right."
The man laughed. 'God, you don't give up, do you!"
"Never. Hang it up."
The face changed. The gun lowered and hit the deck.
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DEATHSTRIKE 191
"Sure, why not?" Carter wasn't surprised. He had almost expected it Calmly, the man pulled out a cigarette case. He lit a long brown cigarette and smiled. "They'll try me and probably get a conviction. But do you know what, Carter? They'll give me five years . M the most. Any more than that and you'll have hijackings all over the world to get me out. And 1 won't even do the five years. Some government will want to make a deal with another government, and part of it will be my
Carter watched the smirking face and listened to the glib talk. And as he listened, he knew the man was right. The trial would take two years, a couple of million dollars, and he would be convicted. And two years later. Abu El Adwan would be nut. Caner pressed the trigger on the Sten and kept pressing until the magazine was empty. Then he walked back out on deck. Colonel MacCreedy was waiting. No casualties on our side, sir. And the officers and are safe." And theirs" Carter asked. viten accounted for—eleven men, two women—
o," the Killmaster said "Fourteen . . . all dead."