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' 'Cigarette?" the second executioner said, taking out Car-
ter's gold cigarette case from the breast pocket of his black
jump suit.
A final cigarette was still a custom among firing squad
victims. Carter noted the convenience of offering the con-
demned man his own cigarette. Besides the expensive
cigarette case, the killers had commandeered his Luger,
stiletto, and gas bomb. They could afford to be magnanim-
ous.
'Thank you." Caner said, choosing one of the monog-
rammed cigarettes , his initials embossed in gold on the filter.
The executioner lit it.
"Have one yourself, " Caner urged the man as if he still
owned the case.
The executioner looked suspiciously at Carter, not quite
sure whether he was being made fun of. His brows knit with
indecision.
Carter inhaled and blew a perfect smoke ring.
"Go ahead," Caner said generously. "I insist."
The hand that lashed out was the size of a catcher's mitt.
The man had made up his mind.
The hand hit Carter a brutal blow across the cheek. The
AXE agenCs ears rang. He tasted salt. His lip was cut and
bleeding.
' 'Just the sort of civilized behavior one would expect from
a kleptomaniac baboon, 9' Caner said, continuing to smoke.
The executioner gave a growl deep in his chest and lunged.
Panicked, his two companions grabbed him and threw him
back.
"Wait! " one of them shouted. 'SYou 'II ruin everything! "
They held rifles with edgy trigger fingers on Carter. They
relaxed only a moment when the aerie 's door opened, then
were instantly alert again. Three additional executioners



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147
dressed in official black jump suits walked out onto the
courtyard's paving stones.
One was again the bouncer from East Berlin's Werner
Hall. arrogant and proud of the promotion into his shiny new
black clothes. But that was not what Carter's three killers
were so eagerly awaiting.
In the center of the new triangle of black was Annette
Burden, very much alive, a large bandage on her forehead
and angry disgust on her beautiful face.
Then she saw Carter. She gasped. Her face paled in shock.
The six killers took it all in, laughing sadistically. Their
joke on the two victims was a great success. With these
professional executioners, killing wasn 't just a job. It was a
calling. And the more psychological pain they inflicted, the
greater their gratification.
Annette fainted.
They laughed louder at her crumpled, white-faced shape
helpless on the ground.
lhe momentary distraction was all the Killmaster needed.
Moving like lightning, he slammed the rock-hard flat of
his hand into the throat of the closest killer, and felt the neck
bones crunch.
Instantly, Annette jumped up.
The man Carter had hit collapsed, surprise embedded in
the cruelty on his face.
Carter spun and kicked the belly of the second one, the
man 's digestive tract crushed against his spinal column. The
executioner stared astonished as he keeled over in a dead
faint.
Annette grabbed the shoulders of the black-clad man next
to her, dropped back, and tossed him flying over her in a
resounding slap against the paving stones that knocked him
unconscious.



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Carter rotated ten degrees, smashed his elbow up into the
bouncer 's chin , and heard the neck snap loose from the spine.
The bouncer groaned, and urine spread a circle of sharne
between his legs.
All this in twenty seconds.
Stunned, the last two executioners came to life. T(X) close
to fire, they swung their rifles like clubs.
Carter and Annette ducked, then closed in.
Waiting until the last second, Carter grabbed the arm that
lashed out with the rifle, yanked down, up, and down again.
The rifle fell. The man screamed as the pain of the broken
arm reached his brain. Carter flattened him with a perfect
punch to the chin.
"Need any help?" Carter asked Annette, grinning.
She glared at him, too busy to respond, as she twisted,
dropping onto her hands. One foot shot up into a terrible blow
to the last executioner's jaw. As the sound of snapping bone
reverberated in the courtyard, she kicked the other foot into
the man 's middle, knocking the wind out of him. Blue-faced,
he collapsed, sucking air.
She stood, dusting her hands.
"Sorry," she said and smiled sweetly. "Did you say
something? "
Caner laughed, knelt, removed his shoe, and rotated the
heel.
"Did your disposition improve in captivity?" he chuck-
led. He took out the coil of wire and apparatus from the heel.
"I've always had a perfect dism)sition," she said pleas-
antly, as she pulled off three of the executioners' belts and
began tying the injured men immobile. ' 'Cold and irritable.
Remember, you like honest women. "
' 'And I adore women who are also wonderful agents. ' ' He
shot the wire into the stone cliff, high and to the left where it
embedded in a spot that, if his estimate were corTect, should




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149
put them directly over the path that led from the airstrip to the
aerie. "Especially those clever enough to survive. " He re-
trieved Wilhelmina, Hugo, and Pierre from the broken-
necked executioner.
"All finished, " she announced.
She picked up one of the executioner's rifles and stood
back to admire the handiwork that had left the executioners
trussed like pigs.
"Not yet, " he told her. "Come here. "
She walked to him. He put his arm around her. She looked
up into his eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You weren't badly hurt?" he said, sudden tension in his
voice as he remembered the torture of leaving her, her head
and face bloody, her body looking dead in its awkwardness.
And then, later, how he'd missed her.
"I told you that I didn't know how to dive," she said.
'That moat—terrible! I don 't like to do things I don 't know
how to do "
"Some excuse," he said, and kissed her.
Her lips were warm and eager as she pressed into him, her
heart Ek)unding against his.
"I thought I'd never see you again, " she whispered.
"Hold tight," he said gruffly. "We'd better go now. "
She tucked her head against his throat, and he fastened the
harness around them and typed out on the miniature keyboard
the instructions that would pull and arc the wire.
He surveyed the scene of immobilized killers, knowing
there was still some time before anyone would think to check
on them. He and Annette would need the time.
He pressed the "go" button, and with a whir and jerk, the
advanced, miniaturized AXE machinery embedded in the
cliff pulled the pair up and to the left. Slowly the mechanism
increased the wire's swing. Back and forth the pair swung
until, with another set of commands imprinted into the elec-



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tronic equipment, the wire suddenly jettisoned out.
"Wow!" exclaimed Annette. 'Ihis is amazing!"
"Just AXE," Caner said.
The pair landed halfway down the mountainside. Quickly
he undid them from the harness, and they jogged down the
steps.
"Wait," he said at last.
He dashed off the path and circled. The sentry was smok-
ing quietly in the shade of an enormous fir, Gocxi. No
one had alerted them that Caner and Annette were missing.
Therefore, the executioners' bodies hadn't yet been disco-
vered.
Caner slipped up behind the guard, wrapped a steely arm
around the man 's neck, and jerked. Just enough pressure for
unconsciousness but not enough to kill. The man would be
out long enough for Caner and Annette to escape.
"Guard?" Annette asked when they resumed their jog.
"The only one I was wonied about. We landed beyond
most of the security equipment and sentries. *lhere are
cameras, though, and gun emplacements on the mountain-
side. If we keep moving, we may be all right. "
At the foot of the dirt steps, they separated. She circled
toward the end of the landing strip where Andrea Sutton's
Cessna was tied and anchored. He saw her surprise a guard,
disable him with three quick karate chops, and move on to the
plane.
He continued his trek toward the semicircle of sandbags
that he'd noticed as they'd flown in.
"Cigarette?" Caner said cheerfully, approaching the two
young men sitting behind the machine gun.
They stared astonished at him.
'Nick Caner, " he said, extending his gold cigarette case.
"Remember? I came in earlier today with Lady Sutton. The
count said I should take a walk around, see the place. You





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two boys tren with the organization long?"
151
They were eager to make friends, but they'd been well
trained, too. One of them watched Caner, an uncertain smile
on his acne-pocked face, while the other picked up a sophisti-
cated walkie-talkie.
Caner sat on the sandbag wall.
' 'Now, that's a new model," he said, indicating with his
cigarette the walkie-talkie.
He leaned over as if to look. The one who'd been going to
make the call hesitated. Caner smiled.
He kicked the walkie-talkie straight up into the air.
Crashed a fist into the jaw of the acne-scarred youngster.
Belted the other fist into the other young man 's chin. Surprise
and dismay clouded both guards ' eyes, then they keeled over
backward, mouths open, unconscious.
Carter dropped his cigarette, ground it out, and raced to the
landing strip. The Cessna 's motor started. Men ran out from
the building at the end of the airstrip.
There were shouts from the mountainside. A rifle bullet
whistled past Carter from the building. Then another and
another.
The aircraft turned and bumped out toward the takeoff
area, Annette watching Caner worriedly.
He tore on toward their rendezvous, the bullets hailing
after.
Annette ducked. 'Ihe passenger door of the Cessna popped
open.
Carter leaped, grabbed a safety handle, and pulled himself
in as Annette jerked the throttle. "Ihe plane shuddered and
leaped ahead like a rabbit, speed suddenly its only mission.
He slammed the door.
The plane rolled on, faster and faster. Soldiers and guards
ran out from the forested mountain, shouting and firing.
Expertly Annette pulled back on the throttle. The nose rose




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NICK CARTER
and smoothly rcxie the air up toward the clouds.
The two agents breathed deeply with relief, and
down. Angry fighters and of the Rule of Justice and
Standards stood frustrated below. Some shook their fists up
at the escaping aircraft. Others ran back up the mountain to
their aerie, plotting how they would defeat Caner and An-
nette even before the two agents had a plan.
"We've got a problem," Annette said.
"Only one?" He smiled. Nothing could be as bad as
remaining in the aerie with no wear»ns, no help, and a firing
squad with itchy fingers.
"Fuel."
He looked at the gas gauge and frowned.
"Darnn. "
' 'Can 't get to London, much less Paris, " she said.
'Then it has to be Madrid, " he decided.







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SIXTEEN
Nick Carter and Annette Burden rcxie in the taxi south from
Madrid 's airport through the clear spring twilight. listening
to the rich Spanish chords of flamenco music, the enticing
calls of street corner vendors, and the happy shouts of chil-
dren at play.
They watched colorful Madrid pass alongside them as the
citizens tumed on house lights, closed businesses, walked
and drove home to dinners of cold gazpacho and hot paella,
innocently unaware of the murderous Rule of Justice and
Standards centered in the Pyrenees only a few hundred miles
north.
At twenty-five-hundred feet above sea level in Spain's
central plateau, Madrid is Europe's highest capital city,
boasting an invigorating mixture of old and new. From nar-
row, picturesque streets lined with seventeenth-century
buildings to broad avenues, green promenades, and modern
housing complexes, the Spanish capital since 1561 was
known as a cultural and artistic center as well as a center of
political upheaval caused by the often violent clash of left and
right.
Carter thought about the Spanish Civil War and the evils of
the forty years of Franco's fascist dictatorship. Even as




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NICK CARTER
recently as 1981, members of the right-wing Guardia Civil
had seized the lower house of Parliament and taken hostage
most of the country's leaders. But within twenty-four hours
the plot collapsed because the arrny remained loyal to King
Juan Carlos, who despite being appointed by Franco as his
successor, had disbanded many organizations founded by
Franco and reinstated free elections. In a nation accustomed
to violence as a way of rule, Spain was turning itself around.
There was People really did want peace, fairness, and
the rights and resB)nsibilities of goveming themselves.
At Madrid's United States embassy, Carter paid the taxi
driver, and he and Annette went into the spacious building.
There was a bouquet of spring roses on the receptionist's
desk. She was young and freckle-faced , with the eagerness of
the unsullied who saw life as a mystery to which they could
and would find a happy ending.
"Ambassador Paul Hallenbeck, please, " Carter said po-
litely.
She took off her glasses and looked solemnly at the two
agents.
' 'l 'm sorry, sir," she said. "He's out of town. Perhaps I
can help. Passport problems? lhe recommendation ofa good
S 'The chargé d 'affaires, then. Henry Fechtman. "
The young woman smiled pleasantly. She liked her job,
enjoyed the friendly tourists who came in with easy problems
to solve, especially those who knew the right people.
' 'May I tell him who's calling?"
"CRAS. "
She stared a moment, her freckled face suddenly sharp
with interest. She didn't know what the code meant, but as
the receptionist she'd been told to alert the ambassador or
chargé d 'affaires whenever it was used. She stood.
"Excuse me," she said.



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155
She bustled off, her heels clicking on the marble floor with
importance. *Ihe message was too significant—and too
exciting-Ao be given over the telephone.
She came back quickly and sat at her desk.
' 'He'll be right out, " she said, busying herself with file
folders, sneaking curious sidelong looks at the man and
woman in the reception area.
Soon Henry Fechtman walked out toward the two agents, a
hand extended in greeting, a puzzled smile on his face.
"Hello, Mr. .
9" he said.
He was a short, red-faced man with a bull neck and a flat,
boxer's belly. He wore an open-necked pale blue shirt tucked
neatly into tan slacks belted tightly at the waist to show his
fine physique.
' 'Mr. Fechunan, " Carter said, shaking the hand, "Mind if
we step into your office?"
s 'Of course not. Excellent idea. "
The chargé d 'affaires shot a sweeping gaze of approval at
Annette , flexed his shoulder muscles unconsciously , and led
them down a short hallway to his cheerfully lit office.
"Have a seat," he offered, indicating the two leather-
covered chairs. "Sorry. I was about to take off. Caught me
just in time. "
He closed the blinds on the window through which the
nighttime city's lights sparkled. Now they couldn 't see out,
but no one could see in either. The two agents sat down.
Annette sighed, and held her forehead a moment in relief.
"What's this all about?" Fechtman asked, looking from
one to the other. "Which one of you is CRA-5?"
"I am," Carter said. need your identification. A pre-
caution. You understand. "
Fechtman folded his hands on top of his desk, which was
ornately carved in the Spanish way. Hanging behind him on
the white wall were two original Goya etchings, Fechtman




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NICK CARTER
had taste, and the good luck to be placed in an embassy where
office furnishings had high priority. The chargé
d 'affaires-—who was also a secret CIA man—-thought for a
moment, then spke.
"Certainly, Mr. Carter, " he said. "CRA-98. Does that
help?
Carter nodded. The ultrasecret CIA number was the cor-
rect one for Fechtman, a number Ambassador Hallenbeck
would be the only other person at the embassy to know. The
CIA was a cautious, highly security-conscious agency. No
one was told any more than was absolutely necessary.
. ' 'We've come to ask for your help, " Carter said, and he
told the story of what he and Annette Burden had discovered
about the secret, chilling Rule of Justice and Standards
league.
As he and Annette related the tale and the scope of the
series of assassinations of high government officials,
Fechtman 's ruddy face turned heavy with seriousness. When
Carter had finished, he slapped an angry hand onto his desk
top.
' 'Appalling!" he said, picking up the phone and dialing.
e 'I 'm calling a friend over at the palace. We'll send the army
to rout out their hideout immediately. They must stop-
He spoke for ten minutes, shunted from friend to official
and then to higher officials. At last, mopping his brow with a
large white handkerchief, he hung up. He smiled.
' 'As you heard, ' ' he said , allowing a small note of triumph
into his voice. "it's taken care of on this end. But for the
larger problem, the international scope of these assassina-
tions, perhaps you'd better contact Hawk?"
' 'Of course, " Annette said, "and I must call my people. "
For a moment the chargé d 'affaires looked startled, then
nodded.




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"Naturally. "
157
There was a note of discouragement in Hawk 's voice when
he first answered from far-off Washington, then excitement
as he recognized Carter's voice.
"Where the hell have you been. N3?" he growled.
As Carter once more began the tale, he heard the click of
Hawk 's butane lighter and the long, drawn-out, satisfying
inhalation of the first puff of a new cigar. Hawk had settled
in, and Caner continued the story.
' SCRA-98 , Fechtman, ODF, " Caner finished, 'has taken
care of seeing that the hideout in the Pyrenees is disabled. He
requests that you notify all governments of the Rule of Justice
and Standards scheme, and says more detailed inforrnation
will be forthcoming with names and addresses of league
members, ' '
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Hawk was
puffing furiously.
' 'ODF," Hawk said. ' 'You're sure?"
"Positive. s' Caner smiled at Fechtman, who was watch-
ing him curiously.
"You 'II activate the location searcher?" Hawk said.
'%Already did that this morning. Everything seems to be
under control. We can thank Fechtman. Moves swiftly and
efficiently. Perhaps you 'd like to dictate a commendation for
his CIA file, sir. "
Hawk cleared his throat in the distance.
' 'Get back to me soon, " the AXE chief said gruffly. 'II
take care of
be ready. You've done fine work. And
yourself, N3. You 're in a hornet's nest for sure. I've grown
rather fond of you. "
There was silence on both ends of the line after the unac-
customed intimacy.
'Thank you, sir," Carter said at last.
' 'Happy hunting, " Hawk said, once again his crusty self.




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Smiling, Carter hung up the phone.
A buzzer on the desk sounded. Fechtman leaned over and
pressed the toggle.
"Yes?" he said.
"Your uncle and his friends are here, the receptionist
announced.
" 'Send them in, ' ' Fechtman said, tuming off the intercom.
Now he, too, smiled.
"Uncle?" Annette said, puzzled. "l thought you were
leaving for home. "
"The great Killmaster," Fechtman chuckled nastily,
"and his latest sidekick, this one an empty-headed Israeli
bombshell. "
Annette reared up, grabbing for Carter's Luger. She 'd had
to leave her rifle in the Cessna. A rifle was too difficult to
explain to a cabbie.
"Forget it, " Fechtman said, sitting square his
desk. "I've had an M-16 on you from the beginning. Drop
the weapons, Killmaster—the little gas tx)rnb too—or I 'II kill
you both. Your woman first. "
The count has amved, " Carter told Annette , placing his
Luger carefully on the desk, then adding the stiletto and gas
bomb.
' 'Well, Killmaster, "
Fechtman said, impressed.
"Perhaps you 're as good as you're advertised to
"How did you guess?" Annette asked Carter.
"Regular CIA wouldn't know my name," he told An-
nette. "How did he know that, and about AXE and Hawk, if
he weren't warned and prepared beforehand by the count's
people?
' 'Ah, Monsieur Carter, ' ' Count Montalban said suavely as
he walked into the chargé d 'affaire's office accompanied by
eight executioners. "How lovely to meet again. Most un-



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159
usual circumstances, but
' 'Henry, the plan goes?"
He turned to Fechtman.
"Smooth as silk, sir," Fechtman said. "Carter gave the
information to the AXE head Hawk as you suggested. He'll
be kept busy informing govemments and treading water,
waiting for us to get back to him with names and addresses. ' '
"Your telephone call to the palace was phony! " Annette
accused Fechtman. "You made it all up!"
He laughed.
"Of course. Hollywood didn 't think I had any talent, but
the CIA always has use for a man with imagination. "
"And the Rule of Justice and Standards, " Carter added.
'We're delighted to have Henry 's professional services, "
the count said, gesturing the group toward the door. "Come.
It's•time."
"But how did you know to find us here?" Annette won-
dered.
One of the black-suited executioners prodded her with his
rifle as she stocxi stubbornly waiting for an answer. She
turned and shot an icy glare at the man. 'Ihe count, a gentle-
man of the old school, raised a hand, and the executioner
backed off.
"Preparations, my dear, 'i the count explained. "We had
similar plans at all the embassies, but of course the likelihood
was that you'd come her. Only enough gas for Madrid. A
war is won not just on an army 's stomach, but also on its close
attention to details. Now we really must go. "
The count to the executioners, and they milled out,
escorting their prize—the two agents—tightly surrounded by
guns and bodies. The group walked down the short conidor
to the reception room, past the receptionist who was tied and
gagged to her office chair, her unsullied face once so excited
by life now pale with fear, and past twenty other embassy



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NICK CARTER
personnel—cooks, gardeners, file clerks, secretaries, maids,
handymen—who were tied similarly to chairs in the recep-
tion area.
"Is that all of them?" the count asked a camouflage-
outfitted soldier who approached and saluted smartly.
"Yes, sir!" the man said.
'Everything ready?" the count went on, leaning down to
peer over his jutting hawk nose at the soldier who stood stiff
at attention.
"Very good," the count said. "Let's go. "
Now two dozen strong, the group moved out the front
doors and down the path to the sidewalk where long black
limousines waited. Soldiers and executioners climbed into
the string of cars. The count gestured to Annette and Carter to
get in the second limousine, then to three of the soldiers. He
climbed in last. Ihe caravan moved off.
When they 'd driven about a block, the explosion went off.
The ground rocked. The blast thundered through the air.
People ran out on the sidewalks, and the limousines sped
ahead.
' The embassy," Caner said, his stomach turning over.
He thought of the freckle-faced secretary, the innocent office
personnel. Murdered.
"You bastard! " Annette cried, her cool blue eyes flashing
like sapphires with the horror.
The count nodded.
"They were all corrupt anyway," he explained.






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SEVENTEEN
The group changed jets twice during the night, and on the
third jet the entire jury from the Pyrenees aerie joined them.
About thirty jury members from the various levels sat in the
first class section, smoking, talking quietly, some gazing out
the windows as morning showed Africa 's deserts and savan-
nahs shimmering gold, spaced intermittently by the dark
green foliage of dense overgrown jungles.
In tourist class tkhind, about fifty executioners and sol-
diers, who were training to be executioners themselves, slept
or played solemn-faced poker. The executioners played only
with other executioners, and the soldiers, the decision made
for them, also played only with one another. Rank was
important among all forms of life. The men seldom talked,
the intensity of winning more important than any momentary
human need to communicate.
Nick Carter and Annette Burden sat at the back of the first
class section, two executioners across the aisle guarding
them. Count Montalban had been explicit alX)ut which seat
each of the first class passengers was to sit in, even the
prisoners, and his subordinates had deferred without com-
plaint but with strained smiles to his wishes.
The aircraft was passing over Lake Rudolph in north



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NICK CARTER
Kenya 's arid plain when the count roused himself to walk up
and down the aisle, stopping to smile and chat, attending to
the politics of leadership.
Lady Andrea Sutton sat next to Mr. Justice Paul Stone, her
chin high as she defied Carter's rejection. But occasionally
the soft gray eyes darted back, unable to stop themselves,
taking in the bitter sight of Annette and Carter sitting hand in
hand. She would flinch, jerking her gaze away, and retum to
the business of being a leader of the world 's only h01E for
civilization—-the Rule of Justice and Standards. She'd made
an uncomfortable compromise with herself.
"But we must be very careful , mon vieur , ' ' the count was
saying to the magician whom Carter had at last placed as a
great-grandson of Kaiser Wilhelm. s Only the best people.
Your nominee does not have the background, the .
if you
will forgive me. . . the pedigree. One of the attitudes wrong
in the modern world is that class makes no difference. Non-
sense! A man with the proper rearing, the right schools, a
cultivated taste for literature, art, learning—that man was
bom to lead. He has bred into him the ability not only to make
decisions, but to make the right ones. "
"And who, dear Count," said the member from Japan,
"constitutes the 'best' people?"
The jury members watched uneasily as the arrogant count
smiled patronizingly down at the Japanese minister of cul-
tural affairs.
' 'Ah! Thought you would catch me, did you, Totura? Ihe
old man is not off his bonnet yet. There is plenty of room for
the likes of you. Women, too. Have to have them these days.
I know you Japanese do not like them either, what with their
caterwauling about property and inheritance rights, but times
have changed. "
The first class passengers shifted unhappily. The soldiers
and executioners in the tourist comparünent and the two




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163
executioners guarding Caner and Annette appeared unin-
terested and unmoved.
"But they will not run things. No," the count went on,
stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Can •t go too far. History is a
great teacher, and what we have learned is that white Euro-
peans of the old aristocracy are the ones who conquered the
world. You people had your chance when you txjmbed Pearl
Harbor, but you just did not have the necessary vision and
persistence. You could have—and should have—won the
war right there. "
A ruddy flush spread across the Japanese minister's
cheeks. He knotted his hands into fists, then glanced uneasily
at the executioners. They stared right through him. *Ihe other
league members looked at the executeners too, then tumed
their backs as if they wished the whole conversation—and the
hints it gave about the megalomaniac count—would evapo-
rate.
' 'Now take dear Andrea, ' ' the count said, strolling up the
jet's aisle. "A man with sex appeal comes along, and she's a
whimpering weakling. " He patted her shoulder. She cringed
away from the hand, but he didn 't notice. "She does not
mean to be, of course. Can 't help herself. That is the differ-
ence between a man and a woman. Strength of character. "
He laughed heartily. Several of the jury members joined
him.
Beside Carter, Annette moved restlessly. He squeezed her
hand, warning her to control her anger.
"We are interested in new members at any time," the
count continued as he returned to his seat. "But not all of
them can to be on the juries. We must be careful, very
careful, of our choices. I will seriously consider all nomina-
tions, but you must not be surprised when I veto a few. After
all, the whole concept is quality of life. And who better
knows that than those who've lived the best lives?"





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Ihe count retired to sit alone in regal splendor'in his seat.
A sigh of relief wavered through the first class compart-
ment. The executioners and soldiers remained unmoved.
They had been paid to loyal only to the count. An enorm-
ous family fortune that could afford many expensive salaries
was still worth something.
Some of the various jury members slumped unhappily in
their seats, others stared stonily ahead, while several slipped
into the contentment of knowing they were right about the
count and life.
But some had tEen surprised and offended by the count's
bigotries. Although powerful and indelEndent in their own
countries, here they were subservient to the count and his
staff. To attack the count was the same as attacking the
executioners. The well-trained, ruthless, black-suited
executioners were enemies no one wanted. They took too
much pleasure in their work. And so the offended jury mem-
bers remained silent about their objections.
The cabin quieted. The soft slap of playing cards and
called poker bets echoed from the back. 'Ihe count turned on
the intercom system of piped-in music. He chose Chopin's
Second Sonata, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
Annette watched him, irritation and worry growing on her
finely modeled face.
"Now what do we do?" she whispered to Carter. "No
weapons. We can 't escape while we 're in the air. If you knew
what was going on at the embassy, why didn 't you let me
know? We could 've escaped! "
"l alerted Hawk," Caner explained in a hushed voice.
' 'That was my first priority. "
"But he has wrong information! He thinks everything's
under control! ' '
' 'He knows Henry Fechtman was ODF. "
' 'ODF? I your using the acronym when you



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talked to him, but I assumed it was part of the CIA code. "
"It's AXE code for 'operative disfunctional, "' he said,
smiling that the deception had worked not only with Annette,
but apparently with Fechtman, too. ' 'So he knows something
was wrong about Fechtman, and that I'd activated my loca-
tion searcher. A XF people are tracking us now, and have
been since this morning. That means that they know where
the aerie is. Hawk will send a team to observe, and when he
figures out that the Spanish government has done nothing
about it, he'll notify them. "
She looked at him with her large blue eyes. She shook her
head, the blond curls bouncing.
"l didn't see any of that, " she said, her low voice dis-
mayed. "I must losing my touch. "
"Never your touch. " He grinned at her. "You 're used to
giving the orders. When you ire in charge, you know more
than everyone else .
or you 'II fail. "
"But .
. but .
' ne blue eyes snapped as thoughts
clicked into place. "We're still in temble danger. And the
he's frightened his people into subservience. He
count .
can have u*---or any of them—executed instantly. And go on
unstopped with his vigilante plans. His success has already
led to twenty successful assassinations all around the
world. "
"Unfortunately true," Caner agreed. "That's why we
didn 't escape at the embassy when we had the chance. We 've
got to stop him now. No one else can. "Ihs job 's up to us. "
The timbered fort was set high on stilts on the dry land,
surrounded by thornbush, acacias, and baobab trees that
reached awkward arms to the Kenyan sun. Caner knew they
were in south Kenya because of the vegetation, but also
because in the distance the slopes of Tanzania 's distinctive
Mount Kilimanjaro rose to a majestic snowy peak.



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The jet had landed on a private strip on the flat land.
Waiting along the landing strip had been a string of Jeeps that
carried the passengers to the fort. Warm bath water, fluffy
white towéls, and stiff drinks were waiting there, the native
servants fetching and carrying as the thirty members of the
various juries and the fifty executioners and soldiers made
requests that were given as orders. But the natives didn't
complain. Good pay and infrequent contact made even a
palatable.
Carter and Annette's room was simple, a grass mat for a
bed, bars on the window, and three locks on the outside of the
door. A native brought two simple, smocklike garments, and
the count entered the rcx)m, four executioners immediately
behind with their rifles.
"We must resolve one last problem, Killmaster," the
count said, peering down over his nose like a schoolmaster
instructing a wayward, belligerent student. ' 'No more hidden
weapons. No magic wires that shoot into cliffs to help you
escape. The only way you will leave here is in a coffin—orby
your own volition if I decide to trust you enough to allow you
to join my cause. "
"I thought we'd settled that issue," Carter said.
The count walked over to the sleeping mat and kicked it.
Dust from the straw danced in the sunlight.
' 'Whereas your escape would anger most opponents, it
only increased my respect—and my curiosity—about you, ' '
the count said. have decided to allow you to live for the
time being, and to show my good faith, to allow
Mademoiselle Burden to live also. We have here a moment-
ous event. " He swung his arm in a grandiose gesture that
took in the entire compound. "Our first international meet-
ing. Our success has been great enough that we have proved
to ourselves and to the world that our cause deserves to go on.
Now we must complete our plans, authorize them, and move



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quickly with our revolution in justice. You will stay with us,
hear the plans, once more. If again you will not join,
then you must die. Simple, n'est-ce pas?"
He picked up the garments, to the natives who
scuttled out of the and tossed the clothing to Carter and
Annette.
"Put these on. My men will take your clothes away. And
to make certain you hide no more of your deceptive
my men will watch. "
Annette stiffened. The count shrugged.
"In some cases, " he told her, "gallantry is indeed dead. "
He smiled, nodded, and marched out through the door.
' 'Do it, " one of the executioners said. His forehead was
low and his eyes set close together. "Now. "
g 'Absolutely not, " Annette declared.
The executioner raised his rifle and aimed it at her.
"I have orders to kill you if you refuse, " he said, smiling
cruelly. "Please refuse. "
His two companions snickered, watching with interest,
their rifles, too, raised.
She flung the shift across the room, then lunged.
Caner grabbed her around the waist and held her struggl-
ing to him.
' 'You kill her, '9 he said to the executioners, "and the
count will be disapm)inted. In you, not in her or me. 's
"He said—"
"But what will he say if you actually do it?" Caner asked
reasonably. "How can she join if she's dead?"
Unhappy, the three men looked at one another. The count
was very important to them. They didn't want to lose his
favor, or the regular pay. But they were professionals, sup-
posed to make their captives do what they were told.
' 'Let her stand behind me," Carter said. "She'll have




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privacy, and you'll get what you want—the clothes. "
Once more the three killers checked each others ' reactions.
At last the lead one nodded.
"Make it quick," he said.
' 'Annette?" Carter said.
She 'd stopped her wriggling and ncxlded angrily, her curls
bouncing.
He released her. The executioner tossed the shift back at
her. She caught it and stalked behind Carter. He could feel
the heat of her rage. Still he undressed, hearing her undress
behind him. He put on the garment, and she walked to his
side, also dressed in the simple cotton shift.
Silently relieved, the executioners picked up the clothes
and left.
"Now what do we do?" she asked, anger hiding the same
obvious fear that Carter felt. ' '%ey 've taken everything!
We'll never stop the count! Never get out of here alive! "







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EIGHTEEN
All through the day, the spring sun beat onto the wood-
shingled warming the room. Nick Carter and Annette
Burden watched sunbeams dance in the shafts of sunlight
through the barred window. lhey listened to the heavy-
booted Rule of Justice and Standards soldiers and execution-
ers walk their beats around the balcony that circled the
Kenyan fort.
The two agents sat apart on the as they had in the
Hessian house in Lübeck, West Gemany, not touching.
They were separated by a wall of uncertainty, and a strong
feeling of their impending deaths.
"l don't remember much, " Annette said, once more try-
ing to explain her life to herself. "Sometimes I think I walk
backward into the future, my eyes firmly fixed on the past. I
can't shake what happened before. It's part of me, like my
skin. In Jerusalem, there are bombings and hatred, but also
there's much tolerance and love. Someone once said that
organized religion was responsible for more death than any
disease or war. If that were true, then Jerusalem is the place to
go to see how that doesn 't have to be. Different cultures and
religions walk shoulder to shoulder down the old and new
streets despite the constant threats and killings. To stand up



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against that, day after day, year after year, without being
tainted by it shows remarkable courage. And that there are
other choices. "
' 'You came from a strongly religious background?" Car-
ter asked.
"Not orthodox, but reform. My father read the Torah. Sly
mother lit the candles every Friday night. I Sd watch the
flames flicker and wonder that all the rest of the world
weren't as mesmerized as I was by the brightness of the
light. " She crossed her legs and leaned back on her elbows
on the straw mat. "But when they died, the flames weren 't
the same any longer. Dull somehow. Uninteresting. Finally,
boring. By the time I arrived in Israel, I had a chip on my
shoulder. Angry about life, like you said. I was furious.
Nothing mattered anymore." She laughed at the painful
memory and shook her head. "Working on a kibbutz rear-
ranged my prionties. We needed each other there. Need
mattered. And, finally, life mattered again. Everyone was
everyone else's family. Somewhere in there I learned to
distance myself from the anger. To not care so much about it
anymore. I suppose that's why I seem cold to people. But I 'm
not, really. Just careful. When I love, I love deeply, but the
anger is still there. Always will be, I suppose. But I 've
learned to live with it. It doesn't control me anymore. "
"Israel is lucky to have you," Caner said quietly. "Any
country would be. lhe biggest disease our world has is lack
of commitment. People don 't care enough to take risks, stand
up. say what's right or wrong. In that, the count is correct.
And that's why he attracts followers. It's healthy for
to get mad about injustice—just as you did about the injustice
of your parents ' death. What 's not healthy is staying angry.
When people do, after a while, as you discovered, nothing
else matters but the rage. We don 't have enough people who
can make healthy commitments, take healthy risks. Instead



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we have neurotics whose anger becomes more important to
them than the injustices that caused it.
g 'Is that where Lady Sutton fits in?" Annette said, glanc-
ing sidelong at him.
Carter cleared his throat.
s 'It's not easy in her case, " he said slowly. ' 'It 's a combi-
nation. A love affair that didn't go the way she wanted.
Mamage to a man she didn 't love. Leaving the service. Guilt
about both. And trying to recapture herself by resurrecting
the reasons she became an agent in the first place—her
outrage at injustice. "
' 'You 're saying she went off the deep end, " Annette said.
'CSomething like that. "
"Any of us could. "
"We have different tolerance levels, but, yes," he said,
"theoretically we all have our snapping points. You didn 't
break. You found a channel for your anger and, by working
with it, a way to control it. Sometime on the kibbutz, you
gave up rage as the most significant thing in your life.
She smiled, a slow, deep smile. He felt the tingle of her
female call across the empty inches between them.
s 'Lady Sutton 's love affair was with another agent, " she
deduced.
"Yes," he said, uncomfortable.
She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand,
elbow on the floor. She looked quizzically at him.
"You," she said.
"Guilty," he said. "Do you mind?"
"l'm thinking about it. "
"Keep smiling while you're thinking. "
"J 'm not ready to let you off the hook so easily. "
She studied him, her face a mask of disinterest.
"What if I tell you I'm jealous?" she said.
"I won 't lie to you, " he said, 'Oortry to convince you there



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was nothing between her and me. There was a lot, Once.
Long ago. "
Her eyes blazed.
"And now?" she asked.
Her fire and passion spread out to him, inviting. demand-
ing. He was her man, and she wouldn't let him go.
He caught his breath, and cradled her chin. She
staring boldly at him. He looked into her eyes, and the
blueness deepened into the fathomless color of the ocean 's.
*Forget about her, ' she said , her lips moving toward him.
"A man could drown in your eyes." he said.
She kissed him. soft, pliable lips that pulled, pulled him
into her.
His heat spread, then the need, its demands. He crushed
her to him.
There were boots on the balcony. lhe steps stopped at their
door.
She stiffened. The door opened.
Disgust spread across the evil face of the executioner as he
took in the scene of the two on the floor.
s The count says come." he said, his rifle resting across
his ann. "Now."
Caner and Annette exchanged a look of frustration, but
also acknowledgment. At last the time had arrived for the
issue of the Rule of Justice and Standards to be settled. It
meant either their deaths. or the resolution of the insidious
problem that threatened the foundations of the civilized
world.
Carter and Annette sat in the back of the large meeting room.
Glass windows that overlooked the dry plain were behind
them. Their seats faced a sea of chairs, a wall of maps. and a
podium behind which Count Montalban stood in haughty



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grandeur as the room filled with members of his various
juries.
During the day, three more jets had amved with members
from Africa, Nonh and South America, and Australia. *lhere
was seating for sixty in the spacious, skylighted area, plus
there were the soldiers who rimmed the room, and the
executioners who prowled restlessly along the outside bal-
cony and inside halls. The count, the executioners, and the
soldiers were the only people with weapons.
Occasionally Carter glanced over his shoulder through the
windows and saw in the distance glimpses of gnu, lions,
prowling hyenas, and lumbering elephants. As the count
sipped a glass of water and the meeting hall filled to capacity,
all talk stopped
The ground shook with a rolling thunder that grew louder
and louder.
Some of the members looked nervously around. Others
laughed, shouting in the ears of the worried ones. They stood
at the windows, gaping. A herd of antelope thundered toward
the Kenyan fort, clouds of dust swirling gray and brown
tornadoes in the crystal air.
The fort 's floor and walls shook as thousands of the beasts
passed under the structure that had been built high to accom-
modate even the spindly-legged, long-necked giraffe in
flight. For fifteen minutes the men and women of the league
stood there, watching, mesmerized by nature's strength and
glory.
Carter studied the viewers as the last of the antelope
galloped below. He reminded himself that the well-dressed,
wealthy, powerful members were on a collision course with
thousands of years of civilization, trying to reduce law to the
level of animal instincts.
Annette looked at him.



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"Will Hawk come?" she whispered. "Will he send
Carter smiled at her.
"I 've already pressed the switch in the location searcher. "
He pointed to his side where the small electronic device was
embedded beneath his skin. "But there's no way to deter-
mine when he'll arrive. "
"Or if, she said, her face pale with worry.
The members of the Rule sat quietly in their seats, drinking
coffee, as various reports were made from around the world.
Formal requests were made for executioners to serve death
warrants in Los Angeles, Johannesburg, Tripoli, Moscow,
and Buenos Aires.
All were approved without discussion of the cases in-
volved. Once the individual juries had rendered their ver-
dicts, their decisions were accepted by the count.
'%And now for the reason for this momentous meeting, "
the count said at last, speaking in English, the international
language of the members.
The men and women watched him expectantly, their re-
spect enormous. Only a few—some of those who rode on the
jet with him earlier that day—seemed worried and uneasy.
Carter was counting on them. He intended to make them his
secret weapon.
"After careful consideration," the count said, and he
flipped down a see-through plastic overlay with red painted
numbers to cover the map of Europe and Asia, "we have.
determined there is one assured means of changing the direc-
tion of the world from criminal chaos to civilized rule. '
He walked to the next map and turned down another
overlay with red numbers. The members murmured, some
curious, a few concerned. le dropped overlays over the rest
of the maps that covered the world 's land masses. All had red



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numbers that seemed to cluster on the capitals and major
cities.
The world is overrun with crime , " the count said, gestur-
ing at the maps. "We would not be here if life were other-
wise. From the man who steals a loafofbread to the president
of a country who steals a corporation by nationalizing it, our
globe is stained by massive corruption. But unlike the man in
the street whose crime affects only a few, corrupt govern-
ment leaders affect all of us. Therefore, our plan begins at the
top. "
Audience members nodded. Accustomed to a certain
amount of pwer themselves, they understood its ramifica-
tions.
"Part of the problems of leadership," the coun ontinued
reasonably, "is the lack of training. A farm my with muscle,
wile, and luck can fight his way to the top of a dictatorship.
What kind of training is that to lead a nation? A woman who
spends her life following her husband from job to job, sew-
ing , caring for her children giving parties, becomes the head
of her country because her popular father dies and names her
his successor. How can she sensibly lead any country?"
Murmurs grew in the audience. A scattered few clapped
with approval. The count inclined his head, pleased.
'Therefore," he said, "our responsibility is clear. We
must replace the untrained and the corrupt. We must help the
governments of the world begin afresh! "
This time more people applauded, and as the applause
continued, even more joined. The faces of those clapping
beamed, lit by an inner fire of enraged righteousness that fed
hungrily on the count's words. Somewhere deep inside,
every man dreamed of being a savior, of buying immortality.
Carter stood up.
"Count Montalban, " he said.
The count's eyes narrowed.





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' 'There will be time for questions later," he said, his
words clipped as if he were dismissing a servant .
. or a
slave.
"Not a question, an observation," Caner said. "You're
obviously planning to assassinate the top world leaders. "
Several members in the audience gasped, turning to stare
at Carter.
"How do you plan to keep their citizens in line?" Carter
asked. "Will you take over their armed forces as well?"
Angry muttering swept through the room. Some were
upset by the thought that the count would conceive such
horrible acts. But the majority were unhappy that Caner had
interrupted, stolen the count's glory in setting forth his plan.
"Now, now," the count soothed his followers, "Mon-
sieur Carter has raised some interesting points. ' A fine sweat
covered his face. His hands trembled as he gestured toward
the AXE agent at the back of the room. "He is an astute man,
not always ethically correct, but I Wow to his quick grasp of
the situation. It is our responsibility to put true leaders in
charge of the world •s nations. No more helter-skelter, mish-
mash of semiliterate, untrained, ambitious demigods. It is all
perfectly legal. The justice papers were drawn, and I myself
conducted the investigations. "
He paused significantly, lengthening the moment of his
audience 's complete attention. He reveled in his power. His
followers watched raptly, some frozen-faced with horrified
disbelief.
' 'I have death warrants on twenty world leaders, ' ' he went
on. "Eventually we will be forced to execute more. The
chronology and location of the deaths is listed on the maps in
the order of importance. Note carefully. And, of course,
Monsieur Caner is correct. We will have to execute the
leaders of their military machines and take them over, t(X).
They are all corrupt anyway. "




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"And what of your leaders?" Carter asked. '*Who will
you choose to lead the nations?"
' 'Ah, excellent thinking, " the count said. ' 'We will have
white European males, of course, particularly those with
aristocratic backgrounds. Certainly none without the ap-
proved schooling in the right institutions and military
branches. Joined together. we will direct the earth along the
path of truth! We will kill all heads of all governments, and
most of their associates, except those that are with us! It will
be a bright day that dawns over the empire of the Rule of
Justice and Standards' "
His voice rang in the room, a fist shaking above his head.
first ruler of the world.
"Racist!" Carter shouted. s 'Sexist! Bigot!"
At Caner's brave words, some of the followers jumped to
their feet. Many were of different races, and many were
women. But there were also an equal number of the white
European males that the count deemed to be his loyal suppor-
ters and logical successors on their feet protesting, too.
soldiers and executioners came to attention. Those loyal to
the count shouted out their support. The executioner behind
Caner's chair with the evil face grabbed Carter's arms and
yanked them cruelly back.
'Death to all who defy me! " the count yelled in return, his
hawk nose lifted high. He no longer bothered with the aris-
tocratic, compassionate veneer. His face glowed with the
relief of abandoning it. "I will kill you all! All! If you defy
It was the last, too-heavy straw. As Carter hoped, the
chaos erupted into pandemonium. Small pistols seemed to
appear from nowhere. The count's powerful subordinates
hadn't risen high in their own countries because they were
fools. Some of them wore concealed arrns.
Shots ricocheted through the room. Shouts echoed.



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"Stop them!" the count bellowed, ducking behind the
podium.
Carter jabbed an elbow back. Annette smashed a fist into
the executioner 's jaw. The executioner fell heavily across the
chair.
Once free, Carter whirled, kicking a soldier in the
stomach. The man collapsed, gasping.
Carter grabbed Annette 's hand.
"Let's get out of here!"







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Shock and savagery were two key survival techniques in
the free-for-all of any pandemonium. Shock at tirst caused
hesitation. Some of the brawlers used it to their advantage,
punching, stripping weapons, shooting, while their slower-
reacting companions stood in a daze, confused.
Count Montalban jumped up behind the podium from
where he'd ducked.
"Give up! " he shouted to the insurgents. ' 'Give up at once
and you can rejoin our crusade of justice! "
Savagery took over as the executionerc and soldiers pro-
tected their leader. Coldly they picked targets among the
insurgents and shot them dead while the count watched
warily, shouting instructions and encouragement, ducking
when one of his opponents turned on him.
Those objecting to the count 's plan either ran temfied from
the room or squatted behind chairs and tables, trying to
protect themselves while picking off the count's men with
smaller-powered handguns that in the end killed just as dead
as did the executioners' big rifles.
Mr. Justice Paul Stone tossed Lady Andrea Sutton a rifle
he stole from the corpse of an executioner.
The two key English members of the Rule of Justice and
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NICK CARTER
Standard exchanged a look of painful disillusionment, and
fired back at their former friends who would now kill them.
Their insurgent group was badly outnumbered, and as the
battle continued in spurts of stealth and gunfire, the count at
last took out his own ivory-handled pistols.
"Damn you all! " he shouted. ' 'The faithless! The stupid
and willful! I have a plan that will save us all. I will rule the
He shot one man in the heart as he raised up to fire at a
soldier.
He killed a woman who fought next to Andrea with a bullet
that blasted through an ear and blew half her head away.
Then he fell behind the podium again as the remaining
insurgents turned to fire on him.
The vast majority of the still in the hall were the
count 's supporters, but because of the confusion they weren 't
always easy to distinguish from his objectors.
Leading a group of about twenty, the chargé d 'affaires
from the Madrid embassy, Henry Fechtman, tried to join the
lines of the executioners and soldiers. But the count's men
shot the group as if they were attacking instead. Fechtman
fell and crawled away, a wound in his shoulder, blood trick-
ling between the fingers of the hand that held it.
Close to one of the room 's four doors was the magician
from the East German cabaret, the great-grandson of Kaiser
Wilhelm. He and many others slipped out and escaped into
the halls. Ihe rest of the supporters, farther from the dcx:yrs,
lay flat on the floor, arms over their heads, quaking, trying to
stay alive until the soldiers and executioners killed off the
opponents.
Again the count rose behind the podium, his ivory-handled
pistols shaking.
"Fools!" he cried. "Idiots! You'll die! I conde
mn every
one of you to death!"



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As gunfire continued to ring in the room, and the smell of
cordite, fear, and retribution rose, Nick Carter snatched the
rifle of the executioner whom Annette Burden had knocked
out.
She grabbed a rifle from a dead soldier whose hands had
clamped like locks onto it in his death throes.
The row of the count 's kneeling, shooting men stretched
toward the doors on either side.
"Which way?" Annette said.
Carter forged ahead, slamming the rifle butt down on the
back of the head of the closest soldier. The man tumbled
forward, blood streaming from the wound.
The men around the downed man looked up, suddenly
aware a distant bullet had not gotten their comrade.
Carter kicked the belly of the closest one. The man dou-
bled over, green-faced, falling headfirst to the floor.
Annette understood quickly what Carter was doing.
She dropped to her hands, and with lightning-quick kicks
of her feet, widened the circle around them. Four of her
victims dropped unconscious to the floor.
With an angry an executioner swung his rifle up to
aim directly between Carter's eyes.
Caner charged him, lashing the rifle from the man 's
hands, and barreled into him, head down. The head pinioned
the man, making him into a protective wall for Carter and
Annette.
Helpless, arms flailing, the man rushed backward to the
door, Carter propelling him. Annette clung close behind
Carter, shooting anyone who turned to fire on them.
'That 's a new one , Killmaster! ' ' Annette said breathlessly
as she slammed the balcony door safely behind them.
Carter grinned and stood up.
The executioner stumbled backward, arms still flailing,
now wild-eyed with rage and fear. Too eager to escape, he




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fell backward over the rail into the dust of the Kenyan plain.
"Interesting response," Carter said, FRering down over
the side as the man stood and a fist up at the two agents.
"What now?" Annette said, looking around.
Two corpses dead from chest wounds lay spread-eagled in
the bright sunshine on the balcony's floor.
Carter stretched, checking back through the glass window
to the main rcx)rn. Spatterings of gunfire continued. The
soldiers and executioners were closing in on the insurgents.
There were amut fifteen of the insurgents left, shooting
from tables and chairs. Most of the count 's sup1Y)flers
had escaped now, only a few lying still as corpses to avoid
that fate.
There were close to fifty of the count 's men left fighting in
the big meeting hall, and with the count watching behind the
podium, urging his men on, helping with a few well-placed
bullets, the fifteen defiant men and women wouldn't live
long.
"Dammit! I wish Hawk would come!" Annette said.
"He has to gather troops, then transm)rt them," Carter
explained. "If there are any nearby, it will be faster. But we
can't count on it. "
' 'When he comes, he may find us dead, and the place
cleared out. The count will escape to continue his mad plan. "
"It's a good possibility. We're going to have to help the
insurgents. Here 's what we 'II do, ' " he said, and he related the
desperate plan.
Carter and Annette released the cords, and the two big rocks
they had found on the dry Kenyan plain swung through two of
the floor-to-ceiling panes of window glass.
There was an enormous crash.
Glass shards and slivers sliced like knives into the meeting
hall.



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The men and women stopped fighting for thirty seconds,
shocked, then tumed restless to resume the cat-and-mouse
game of closing in on the insurgents.
But already Carter and Annette had slipped in unnoticed at
the two back on opposite sides of the room.
They chose their targets carefully and fired as the two
groups of fighters were still trying to reassemble their wits.
Quickly the outnumbered insurgents took in the situation.
Across from the two agents, to the left of the count, they had
clustered to make their stand. Mr. Justice Stone and several
others were wounded. Andrea Sutton appeared unscathed but
furious.
The group understood that Annette and Carter were help-
ing them. lhey fired with renewed vigor from their
piecemeal shelters of chairs and tables.
The count's head rose slowly behind the podium, but two
of the insurgents saw him and fired. He quickly dropped
back. He was like a king with his symbolic throne. He
wouldn't give up the podium easily, wouldn't give up the
power it represented to him.
Between the small group of fifteen and the two agents, the
executioners and soldiers fought. A few realized the two
agents were the pincers of a nonexistent outside attack. lhey
shot back, but the accurate aim of Carter and Annette slowly
decreased their numbers.
The fighting continued, Carter and Annette picking at the
fifty executioners and soldiers one by onet the executioners
and soldiers picking at the fifteen insurgents one by one.
Then the roar of helicopters sounded over the reverbera-
tions of the meeting hall 's gunfire.
A surge of excitement coursed through Carter.
Hawk had received the message and acted. There was a
chance for the plan after all.
The soldiers and executioners looked up, puzzled, then



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NICK CARTER
decided it must be the sound of more of their people being
transported in.
They resumed their work.
Carter nodded to Annette. She allowed him a dazzling
smile through her cold professional mask. She darted back
out her door onto the balcony.
Carter snaked around the the insurgents' fire oc-
cupying the count 's men. Through the corners of his eyes, he
saw Annette run down the balcony steps. She would meet
Hawk's men, tell them the situation, and bring them to the
meeting hall.
Carter continued around the hall •s perimeter, occasionally
having to fight or kill one of the executioners or soldiers.
The Killmaster was closing in on Count Montalban.
As gunshots punctuated the air around them, Count Montal-
ban looked up from his shelter the podium and into
Nick Carter's eyes. In that one brief moment, understanding
passed between them.
In the count's deep-set, arrogant gaze was nobility, age,
experience, and belief that what he wanted he could and
should have, no matter the cost to others. He lifted his nose as
if smelling Caner, hating the odor of a man who saw that in
him and wasn't impressed.
They stood frozen during that instant, and then Carter
lunged.
Like the wily old jungle fighter he was in Vietnam, the
count hunched and streaked across the back of the room, the
ivory-handled pistols ready at his sides.
Carter tore after him.
Andrea Sutton shouted a warning.
Her group of insurgents saw the count and fired, leaving a
line of holes in the timbered wall.
The count's executioners and soldiers saw Carter and



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fired, and the wall spiintered and shook with the bullets that
could have so easily maimed or killed Carter or the count.
Carter sensed someone behind him , but he couldn 't turn as
he dashed after the count, running down one comdor after
another in the mammoth fort.
Chasing, he turned left and right and left again. Past
confused, wandering jury members whose minds had tem-
porarily lost their grip in the violent melee in the meeting
hall. Past closed doors behind which frightened members
would be cowering or fearfully aiming loaded guns, waiting
for the wrong person to enter. Past a startled who
was lugging a heavy suitcase guiltily down the hall , hoping to
find an airplane, a Jeep, a camel, anything, to escape.
And then Caner was at a dead end.
A hall of closed doors. No windows. No exit except
through the way Caner had entered.
The count had come in here and disappeared.
Carter held the rifle comfortably secure, ready to fire
instantly.
Shots, shouts, and the crashing of an invasion by a large
force resounded in the distance. The meeting hall. Annette
had found Hawk's men.
Carter listened at the first of the six closed doors. Sobbing
came from the room, a man's sobbing. The count had re-
pressed the naturalness of tears—just as he had
compassion—long ago. That wouldn 't be him.
Carter tried the next door. Dead silence. He leaned flat
against the wall and, with a singular smooth motion, turned
the knob and swung the door open. He ran inside, again flat
against the wall. The room was empty. He sighed, walked
out, and closed the door.
Behind the third door, music repeated itself, the same
measure over and over, too shon to be distinguishable. Carter
cracked the door and peered in. The jury member was a



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NICK CARTER
suicide, hanging from a beamed rafter, his belt cutting into
the flesh of his neck, his eyes and tongue bulging purple and
black.
At the fourth door, Carter heard a menacing click. He
smiled.
Again he flattened himself against the wall, using the same
fluid motion to tum the knob and swing open the door.
"You will never leave here alive, Monsieur Carter! " the
count growled from inside the room.
Carter remained in the comdor, flat against the wall.
"Come, come, mon vieux , " the count said, his voice low ,
enticing. *'Little tormenter, little friend. Show yourself! " He
smacked his lips together as if calling barnyard animals.
"Just a farmer after all, " Carter told him, bemused.
The shotgun blast was instant. The plank comdor wall
across from the open door shredded and splintered with the
count's impotent revenge. On the edge of madness, the
fanatic's tem1Er was the first emotion to go out of control.
The count 's angry outburst was all the time the incredibly
fast Killmaster needed.
He rolled into the room and crouched, rifle up.
The count was gone. Disappeared again.
Swiftly, Carter took in the empty room. A desk, chair,
three guest chairs, file cabinet, wastepaper basket, bulletin
board, floor safe, small refrigerator, and mounted wall
photographs of the count with animals he 'd killed around the
world—jaguar, Santa Barbara Channel Islands boar,
elephant, gnu, Australia's wild dingo, tiger, an Alaskan
grizzly.
The hidden latch was to the left of the desk.
Instantly Carter pressed it. The wall swung open.
Carter darted through onto the balcony and the fresh Ke-
nyan air, the count 's automatic secret staircase already rising
to tuck itself neatly beneath the overhang.




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Directly below on the dusty plain, the count ran, an ivory-
handled pistol in one hand, a briefcase in the other. He ran
with grace and sureness. There would be a jet at the end of the
landing field always waiting for him, ready for immediate
takeoff.
A shot rang out as Carter hurdled the balcony rail and
leaped down.
"N3!" shouted the guff voice.
The count glanced over his shoulder, surprised, and
bounded on.
Carter knocked the rifle from Lady Andrea Sutton 's hand.
Tears of frustration and rage streamed down her face.
s '"Ihe bastard!" she screamed. SSHe's ruined everything!
David's plan! My dream!"
Carter sprinted, gave a mighty leap, and sailed through the
air. He tackled the count's legs.
The count rolled and kicked, but Caner held on.
He bashed the briefcase down on Caner's head, but it was
a glancing blow—the count was at a poor angle—and Carter
hardly felt it.
The count aimed his ivory-handled pistol.
"Watch out, N3!" the gruff voice shouted.
' 'Hawk!" Carter called, smiling. "What took you so
Carter grabbed the wrist and squeezed with his steely grip.
The count glared, and a cold, evil smile spread across his
thin aristocratic lips. Ihe count was strong, and he gloried in
it.
Slowly the nobleman rotated his hand so that the pistol was
aimed directly at Carter's heart.
Sweating like a glass of Jack Daniel's, Carter forced the
hand to continue in the arc. It passed his heart, and the gun
was now aimed at the ground.
In a fury, the count dropped the briefcase and compressed



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NICK CARTER
the free hand on Carter's throat.
Hawk 's shadow passed over them.
"I'll take him! " Carter told his chief, gritting his teeth , his
eyes locked into the count's. "He's mine!"
In Count Montalban he saw the results of thousands of
years of greed, ambition, and lies. As long as they could get
away with it, greedy, ambitious men would lie, cheat, steal,
and kill to build empires of power and wealth. fte count was
lower than a common pickpocket. He took the advantages
given him at birth and turned them against humanity. He was
despicable, without the excuse of being poor and ignorant.
He'd enslave others for his own profit.
Disgust welled up in Carter.
The Killmaster released the count's legs.
Again the count tried to roll away, his hand still com-
pressing Carter's throat. Carter panted, tried to breathe.
He pried the fingers from his throat.
While he was busy with that, the count again rotated the
pistol toward Carter's heart.
' 'Nick! Be careful! " Lady Andrea Sutton cried, tears still
in her voice.
His throat free, Carter jumped up. In one dramatic move-
ment, he yanked the count up by the arm, spun him, then
flipped the count up over his back. Still gripping the pistol,
the count sailed like an acrobat through the air, headfirst.
As the count landed with a thud on the hard earth , the pistol
exploded.
The count screamed.
The shot went through his heart. Blood cascaded out.
Astonishment and shock thickened his narrow, aristæratic
face. He pressed his hands against the mortal wound, trembl-
ing, and still the blood poured.
i' 'Why didn 't it work? " he said faintly to no one in particu-
lar, except perhaps himself. His lips were already bluing




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toward inevitable death. "I was right. I could have saved the
world. What went wrong?"
"Avarice, " Hawk mused.
He stood with Carter and Lady Andrea Sutton on the vast
Kenyan plain watching the mop-up operation. With Annette
Burden leading, Hawk's tan-suited Kenyan and American
troops herded the surviving executioners, soldiers, and jury
members out of the meeting room, onto the balcony, and
down into a specially designed A XF corral that had just been
erected. Others searched through the fort, rounding up the
remaining jury members.
' •Avarice complicated by certainty, ' ' Hawk went on, puf-
fing thoughtfully on his cigar. 'There's an old saying in
business: When a company 's in trouble, to save it you go in
and fire the one indispensable man. A company survives and
grows on teamwork. So does a country, or a world. No one is
indispensable. "
Three of Hawk 's men with red crosses on their sleeves ran
into the meeting hall. Now the troops were carrying out
stretchers bearing the wounded. Annette organized them
around one of the helicopters.
"Anyone who thinks he's indispensable-—-or wants to
be, " Carter said, agreeing with Hawk, ' 'harms the rest of us.
Yet we 're all absolutely indispensable to ourselves and to our
friends and family. But that has to do with self-worth. Unfor-
tunately, indispensability—being right—can be an excuse to
go after any goal, good or bad. "
'Nick?" Andrea Sutton moved in front of him, staring up
at him with soft gray eyes full of pain. ' 'If David .
. or you
. would
none of this
had been in charge, this .
ever have happened. The Rule would have stayed quiet.
Small. Done the job no one else would do. Cleaned up the
world. "




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"You don't understand, Andrea," Carter said sadly.
'The whole point is that you were wrong from the beginning.
Size made it worse, but it didn't change the initial mistake.
Vigilantism—taking the law into your hands—is wrong. No
civilized country can countenance it."
' •But the count turned it all wrong. If David had lived—"
'David was doomed, " Carter said patiently. "The magi-
cian, the great-grandson of the Kaiser, was in Budapest to kill
him. The count had ordered him to kill David as soon as
David had finished his assignment. He was following me,
couldn't figure out what I was up to. Then David's heart
attack saved him the job. The count planned to run the
organization himself from the txsginning. That 's the person-
ality that can develop out of vigilantism."
Her eyes blinked slowly as she digested the news. She
frowned.
Off in the distance, Annette was still helping with the
wounded, now carrying plasma, bandages, bending her
blond head to give a word of assurance.
"But us, Nick .
' Lady Andrea Sutton moved closer,
her breath warm and sweet, her skin smelling of tea roses.
' S YVhat about us? We still need justice. Ihis is an evil world.
We can go on fighting
together . .
forever . .
Two of Hawk's tan-uniformed troops approached.
€ 'I'm sorry, " Caner told Andrea. "I really am. "
The men escorted Andrea off to join her comrades in the
corral. She looked back over her shoulder, uncomprehend-
ing, hurt, lost, but with the beginning again of the old rage. In
a few hours she'd be telling herself that she'd been unfairly,
unjustly, dealt with by AXE. But it would be empty solace.
She'd go to trial, and with the massive evidence against her,
she'd be sentenced to prison for a long time by the legal
system she claimed was too easy on criminals.
Hawk slapped Carter on the shoulder.




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"It was close, N3," he said. ' 'You did a damned fine
job.
s •There's still work to be done.
understand. The AXE chief smiled knowingly. "Go
to her. She looks like she could use a hand.
Carter strcxje across the dry plain, feeling the relief and
happiness that came from a difficult mission accomplished,
and now, too, feeling smarter, as if he'd learned something
vital about life. Annette looked up, eyes bright, innocent of
guile. She gave him a glowing smile.
He took the sulfa packets from her hand and pulled her to
him. She smelled clean, of sun and healthy work. She wrap-
ped her arms around his neck and raised her lips.
' 'Kiss me," she said. "I missed you. "
He laughed.
"l missed you, too," he said, breathing into her fresh,
warm hair. "More than you 'II ever know. "