PROLOGUE
In Albany, New York, businessman Duane Michaels
sto«i on the airport 's tarmac and rubbed the cashier's check
between his fingers.
"It is all there," Tiger Santos said cooly.
Michaels nodded. He was a stout man in his early forties,
dressed in an expensive three-piece suit. His sh(ES were
shined to a high gloss. He wore a diamond set in gold on his
pinky finger. He reeked of money, and a love of it.
'Indeed it is, " Michaels said, allowing himself a smile of
success as he again read the amount on the check.
Santos returned his wallet to the hip of his black
satin jumpsuit. He wore black leather boots to the knees and
moved with short, violent jerks.
"1'11 be going now," the young Latin American said.
"Montreal. "
Michaels nodded again, uninterested, as Santos swung
away toward the Gulfstream Jetprop 1000 that he'd just
bought. It glistened like new in the aftemoon sun. Airport
sounds floated across the tannac. A pickup loaded with
engine parts drove past. The smells of grease and hot asphalt
filled tie air.
Michaels tumed on his heel and toward his Mer-
cedes. He the check with his finger and grinned
widely:
1
ONE
San Antonio is a colorful city even at night. Neon lights
ash in brilliant oranges, yellows, and blues in the honky-
onk sections. Cowboys stagger up the sidewalks, their legs
nt as if still riding horses. Pimps beat their whores. Dogs
and drunks urinate on buildings. And Tex-Mex music blares
from bars, too big a sound to be contained in any rqx)rn, not
ven an outsize Texas rcx)rn.
Nick Carter, Killrnaster N3 of the United States' most
secret agency, AXE, considered this as he shambled along
e sidewalk, a bottle of Tokay clas1Ed protectively against
is side.
ne street teemed with cars and people. Big old Cadillacs
Iled horse trailers and waited at traffic lights next to
olkswagen bugs with fake Rolls-Royce hoods. Dodge and
evrolet vans moved smoothly , obeying all laws as hookers
front drove and others in back accommcxiated johns. In
an Antonio nothing is unexpected. Everything is
Carter, dressed in filthy Levi 's and vest, a battered Stetson
Iled low over his eyes, hugged the bottle of cheap wine and
meandered after his quarry. Just another faceless cowboy
isappointed in the land of possibilities.
Ahead of him, the agent he trailed walked tiredly among
the pedestrians, slapped off the hands of clumsy pickpockets,
and shook his head at the hawkers outside bars who offered
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NICK CARTER
him sights he'd never seen. He too wore a cowboy disguise
but he had given up any pretense of believing in it. He 'd bee
successful—he'd made his contact and picked up hi
information—and now Carter was waiting only for a momen
of privacy to relieve him of his success.
•men a fist swung out from a black hole that was a door
way.
Carter ducked, then slammed an elbow into the void.
The bottle of Tokay smashed to the sidewalk as Carter fel
the satisfying crunch of ribs meeting stomach and heard th
screams of pain from the dark doorway.
Caner crouched low, swiveled on his heels, and watched
The quarry he'd been tailing darted into a bar with purpl
windows and a flashing gold neon boot outside.
ne corner was suddenly quiet, wary. Drivers in
waited at the traffic light with averted eyes. Pedestrian
disappeared down the sidewalk. There were no sounds bu
idling engines, soft moans from the unconscious attacker
the doorway, and the distant thud-slap of playing cards on
felt table.
Carter his head. His trained senses were as finel
tuned as IBM microchips and as sensitive as exposed nerv
endings. He knew he still wasn't safe.
Then hc heard it.
Leather slapping brick.
*Ihree figures leaped like uncaged animals from the bric
ledge above Carter.
One dropped toward his back.
Two more fell on either side of him, trying to cut o
escape.
Faster than a thought, Carter rolled and sprang untouch
to his feet, Hugo, his razor-sharp stiletto, steady in his hand.
He sliced through the stocking mask of the first attacke
Blood spurted from the man 's forehead, nose, and cheek
Carter spun as the man yelled and clutched his face. Bl
poured between the man's fingers onto die sidewalk. H
collapsed in a heap.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
5
5
Carter kicked a revolver fmm the second attacker's hand ,
wheeled, and a revolver from the third man.
The two uninjured men backed off, surprised eyes framed
by the narrow slits in their stocking masks.
Caner pursued, one step at a time.
Across the sidewalk.
Past a straggly magnolia.
Over an iron grate.
And a whip out, catching on the grate.
Carter tripped and fell, Hugo sliding away.
The whip released.
Carter grabbed, too late.
It retumed to the attacker who'd sent it immediately
lashed out again.
Across Carter's chest.
Drawing blood and pain.
Again Carter grabbed and missed, his spinning.
lhe attackers laughed.
great Killmaster! ' ' the one with the whip hcx:ned. He
had a Spanish accent.
'He isnot so go(xi, eh?" theothersaid. as
us! " He stood to the side, ams crossed over a thin chest, his
face thrown back, laughing. "Gringos!" He had a
high, throaty voice, intense with hatred.
Carter along the sidewalk and saw the attackers'
revolvers far behind him. But Hugo lay close, gleaming
green with light reflected from a café sign.
The whip again sang through the air.
Carter rolled, his head clearing.
The whip struck only concrete.
Carter sprang to his feet with Hugo, in one smooth
movement he sliced the whip, threw the stiletto into the
whip-wielding attacker's heart, and knocked the other at-
tacker unconscious.
The attacker with the whip now held a useless weaÆxyn, and
he stood frozen in horror and surprise. Then suddenly he
yanked Hugo from his heart. A brilliant red geyser gushed
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NICK CARTER
into the neon night, and he pitched over.
Carter picked up Hugo, cleaned him on the dead man's
sweatshirt, and slipped him back into the spring-activated
chamois sheath strapped to Carter's foreann from where,
with the tensing of a muscle, he'd be returned to Carter's
hand for action.
Caner observed the deserted sidewalk and busy street.
Safe for the moment, he bent over the blocxiy bcxly.
Ihe pockets were empty, No jewelry except a cheap
wristwatch with a wide band. No tags within the clothes. He
pulled off the stcxtking mask and saw a brown face
with black eyebrows. Latin-American, but from which coun-
try ?
Caner sensed movement beside him. ne attacker he'd
knocked out was on his feet, stumbling then running like a
nervous woman down the sidewalk. He favored his left side.
Caner was tempted to follow, but instead his attention was
caught by the edge of something white on the body . He
pulled a scrap of paper from under the wristband of the deid
man's watch. A tiny piece of with one word printed
carefully in Ixncil: ITZAMNA.
TWO
The café with the flashing gold neon boot was called Red
Sam's. The door was open, and cigarette smoke made the
night air acrid and gray even before Carter inside.
The long walnut bar was three-deep with thirsty oil roust-
abouts and cowboys. A Mexican cornbo played rough songs
of faithless love back-country violence.
Carter sat at a small wcxxlen table against the wall. The
table was carved with the indifferent marks of the lazy: no
traditional hearts, initials, or women's breasts, but simply
lines and hacked-out holes that showed someone with a sharp
knife, too much time, and no imagination had sat there.
Carter leaned back so his chair rested against the wall. He
lit a Marlboro-—-he didn't think one of his custom-made
cigarettes with his initials emtx)ssed in gold on the filter went
with his outfit—and stared around the room. Noone bothered
to look back, except for a girl with stringy hair and a beautiful
face. She stared from the bar at Carter's blocxiy , whiplashed
chest. He smiled at and ncxlded. She looked at him
boldly, then dropped her gaze as if to reconsider.
Carter continued to Fruse the rcx)m. He'd his
quarry to be gone, and he was right. There were plenty of
cowboys, but none looked as if he would be more comforta-
ble in a three-piece suit. There were plenty of
Mexicans but none had the air of a bureaucrat gone wrong.
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NICK CARTER
nie agent—Carter's quarry—had ducked in here and disap-
A waiter approached Carter's table.
'What d 'yall want?' ' The waiter spoke to the empty space
Carter's head. He had the air of a man lost to life, so
lost that his eyes couldn 't meet another's for fear of tEing
called back.
' 'Did you see a man about five-foot-ten in a red plaid shirt
and jeans come in here about half an hour ago?" Carter
asked. ' 'Had a scar across his forehead like this. " He traced a
jagged line above his eyebrows and down his left temple.
"Haven't seen no one like that all day," the waiter
drawled. ' 'What d'yall want to drink?"
Carter nodded. The waiter hadn't noticed, would never
notice, and if he had or could, wouldn't tell.
"Beck's," Carter said, "and give the lady another of
whatever she's drinking. "
'Ihe waiter followed Carter's gaze to the beautiful young
woman with the long stringy hair at the bar. Embarrassed, he
left to fill the order.
-me sound in the street started like a distant drumming.
Quickly it grew louder. The waiter put a full glass in front of
the girl, then ran around the bar with five more waiters and
bartenders toward the front door. Customers peeled out ofthe
way, watching with interest. 'Ihe girl looked at the drink and
then at Carter. She crossed her legs and her skirt rode up over
her knee.
'Out!" the bartenders yelled.
They flapped their white aprons and
'Out! Out! Get outta here!"
ne noise was like thunder, and the waiters and bartenders
backed into the room.
"Yippee!" a hoarse voice shouted.
A lariat swung through the door and fell around one of the
retreating bartenders. He yanked at it angrily, but it tightened
and dragged him back toward the door.
'Ihe horse and rider pranced into the barrx)rn, the cowboy
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
9
9
low over the speckled Appaloosa, the bartender nose to nose
with the horse.
'That's MacDuff," the beautiful girl said and sat at the
table with Carter. 'SHe gets bad drunk every month or so. "
lhe cowboy wrapped the end of the lariat around his
saddlehorn, slid off the mare, and strutted up to the bar. "Ihe
Appaloosa snorted, and rolled her eyes. A cus-
tomer the cowboy 's shoulder and handed him a drink
while two waiters rushed to untie the writhing bartender.
s Of course, with his reputation," the girl continued,
"MacDuff can't get away with the wildness he used to. "
The Appaloosa's ears were laid back against her rust-
and-white head. Her tail twitched nervously as the waiters
walked her around and out the door. The bartender who'd
been lassoed sank onto a chair and mopped his face. The
customers reassembled at the bar around MacDuff, laughing,
retelling tonight 's story and others as they once again took up
the serious task of drinking.
"You should be caring for that front of yours."
The girl glared at Carter's chest as if it were an insult. She
had flecks of back in her blue eyes, and her cheektx)nes were
high and good, but her honey-colored hair was in need of a
good washing. She patted the matted strands back over her
ears as if she knew but didn 't care. She was a hooker who
didn 't have too high an opinion of herself.
"l appreciate your concern," Carter said seriously, "but
I'm looking for someone. Soon's I find him, I'll take care of
my chest. "
SSWho?"
She had a forthrightness that Carter liked. Direct. No
games. He offered her a cigarette. She cum:rd his hand and
stared into his eyes as he lit it. He stared back. Her eyes had
the color arui hidden intensity of uncut lapis lazuli.
He described his quarry. He wasn't surprised when she
ncxided knowingly.
' 'He 's staying at the Saguaro Motor Inn down the street, ' '
she said. "Alone."
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NICK CARTER
Part of her work was to watch everyone who came into the
"How long?"
She shrugged narrow shoulders beneath a blouse with
frayed collar and cuffs.
s 'A few days," she said.
'Thanks. " Carter laid ten dollars on the table and
up.
"You'll never find the place," she said.
She watched him, her sculpted face pinched, waiting for
him to refuse her company. She was very despite
her unkempt hair and shabby clothes.
' 'Want to show me?"
"l wouldn't mind," she replied softly.
He followed her to the door, watching her long legs prance
beneath the short denim skirt. They walked out into the gaudy
night. Down the street, the sidewalk was off. Three
patrol cars with flashing red lights blocked a lane of traffic.
nie bodies had been taken away, and detectives and patrol-
men were investigating. Nothing would come of it. *Ihe
attackers were from some distant county that kept poor
records and had little interest in dead agents.
MacDuff's mare nickered at them. The girl stroked the
horse's nose, scratched behind its ears, and rubbed between
the eyes. The mare was tethered to the handle of a large blue
mailbox.
"See?" the girl asked Carter. 'This is where she likes it. "
She worked on the spot between the eyes, and the horse
again nickered and blew.
"MacDuff's got a g(xxi horse," Carter said.
The girl n«xided.
SSDon't he know it, too. When he's s&r."
They walked up the sidewalk, away from the horse and
police.
"I knew you were friendly," the girl said. '61 could tell. "
"You were the friendly one. You were worried atXR1t my
As she walked, she swung her shoulder bag. She smelled
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
11
11
faintly of a nicc perfume; Carter guessed she took advantage
of the sample bottles on drugstore cosmetic counters.
' 'Business good?" Carter asked.
' 'Not very. "
"You don't like the work. "
After two blocks, the buildings got smaller with occasional
untended lots in t:etween, Weeds sprouted in sidewalk cracks
and in rain gutters. Caner and the girl passed a junkyard with
the remains of an old Intemational Harvester aban-
next to a locked double gate of chicken and barbed
wire.
"See it?" the girl asked and pointed.
On the far side of the junkyard, away from the street on a
gravel road, were a cluster of ramshackle cottages that had
once tren white. They shone like old bones in the moonlight.
Before them was a painted sign illuminated by an overhead
light: Saguam Motor Inn---Air Conditioning—Refrig-
erators. The light was so small that the sign was almost lost in
the night.
"I think you can help me," Carter said
"I don't have to."
"I'll pay. "
She flipped gravel with the of her sandal. He looked at
the quiet street. Only an old pickup was parked at a curb three
doors away. In the faint glow of a streetlight, Carter saw the
silhouettes of two figures, heads together—lovers—sitting in
the front seat.
S 'What's your name?" Carter asked the girl.
' 'I'm nineteen. I left home when I was twelve. "
' 'Do you want to help?" he asked.
"Linda," she said. "My name's Linda. "
He held her chin and looked into her lapis lazuli eyes. She
trembled and watched him intently. His chest and head hurt.
He bent and kissed her. Her mouth was sweet, clean. Her
breasts tim and hot. She leaned into him, shuddering with
pleasure, and he pulled her closer.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
THREE
The night sky was thick with twinkling stars, cleared of
smog by a rising wind off the San Antonio River. Katydids
and crickets sang. The grass was sun-dried arxi fragrant. In
the next block someone pumped an accordian song of fast
adventure.
Nick Carter at the comer of his quarry's ramshackle
motel cottage and considered the darkness. Sounds and
smells vary from country to country, but the mystique of
night remains.
Linda walked up the gravel driveway to the cottage door.
The cottage's single front window was blank, the shade
drawn over the dull flicker of a television within. Carter
listened to the girl's footsteps crunch against the gravel, the
blur of television voices, and the warm wind rustle nearby
sage and scrub trees. The sounds were heightened by the
potential for violence that darkness brings.
girl knocked.
"Yes?" a man's voice said.
The door opened a crack. Carter slid along the wall toward
the at an angle the quarry could not see. Light and the
sweet smell of rum spilled from the door's crack. The quarry
had been watching a Spanish-language TV station.
"I'm your present," the girl purred.
She slouched against the doorjamb. Her skirt lifted above
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NICK CARTER
the shapely legs. Her breathing intensified, breasts rising
against the thin cloth of her blouse.
' 'Happy Birthday," she said.
Carter could feel the quarry's stare.
"From MacDuff and the boys at the bar," she said.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded. Her tilted, her breath-
ing deep and irregular. She gave off a scent of lust thick
enough to bottle, and the quarry leaned forward hungrily.
"MacDuff?" he said eagerly.
She ncxlded and stared up through lashes thick with mas-
cara.
s 'But it is not my birthday," he said.
The girl slowly ran a finger down the quarry's cheek and
chest, stopping at his belt buckle. He sighed deeply.
"It doesn't have to be," she cocrd.
He let her push him back into the motel rmrn, grinning
from ear to ear with anticipation.
Until he saw Nick Carter.
Carter kicked the door closed, Hugo in hand.
Ihe quarry was a dark man with small, pretty features in a
broad face. He was in his fifties, a look of Ekmanent disap-
pointment engraved on his face in a deeply etched pattem of
downturned lines. He flung the girl into the television
The girl and set crashed to the floor. 'Ihe set sparked, and
she cried out, holding her side. Carter half turned to here
"I'm all right!" she shouted.
It was only a half turn, only a moment, but it was long
enough for an old guerrilla fighter. The quarry jumrrd from
behind and wrapped an ann around Caner's throat.
Carter jabbed an eltx)w back.
A piston into the quarry's stomach.
The stomach had been behind a desk too long; it was soft
and pulpy.
The quarry ga.SFkd and weakened.
Carter broke free, whirling around.
".Where is it?" Caner demanded, pointing Hugo at the
retreating man.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
15
15
"Nada!" the quarry panted and threw a plastic chair. "l
tell you nothing!"
Carter ducked.
The quarry ran to the dresser and pulled out a revolver.
Carter hurled Hugo through the air and pinned the quarry 's
red plaid sleeve to the cracked plaster wall. The revolver
dangled, useless.
The girl laughed.
'SI saw you get it, " Carter said, walking slowly toward the
Ihe quarry growled and pulled frantically at the stiletto.
' 'It would be easier on you to tell me where it is," Carter
said, now close.
Ihe stiletto popped from the wall.
The quarry crouched free, red-eyed with rum and rage,
Hugo in one hand and the revolver in the other.
Carter shook his head.
"Darnn«i fool," he muttered.
Before the quarry could aim, Carter kicked Hugo into the
bathroom and rammed the side of his rock-hard hand into the
quarry's ribs.
Ribs cracked and broke, and the man doubled over.
ne revolver fell.
Carter sccxpi up the gun and pointed it at the quany's
head.
'Vlhis isn't the way to get a promotion, " Carter said.
The girl giggled again.
*Ihe quarry lunged, a bull elephant gone mad, pushing his
head into Carter's belly.
He shoved Carter back across the room. The gun dropped
from Carter's hand under the furious force of the quarry.
"No!" the girl screamed.
The pair crashed through the window shade and window.
Glass shattered, slivers flying through the air, explcxling
into the night.
Carter hit the ground outside with the other agent on top,
but a second later the quarry scrambled up and ran away
across the gravel.
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NICK CARTER
Carter raced after the man who now held his sides as if in
straightjacket of pain.
Carter hurled himself forward and tackled the escapin
agent in the sickly light of the motel sign.
Gravel flew and crunched as the girl ran up to them.
The old guerrilla fighter twisted, trying to bring his
up Carter's legs. His face was fierce with determina
tion.
One shot rang out.
Sharp and startling.
lhe quarry fell into the weeds beside the motel. BJ
poured from his neck into the dry ground. He jerked and la
still.
'Ihe girl stocxi somber, the agent's revolver limp at he
side. She looked up at Carter with round, stricken eyes.
"He would've killed you," Linda said.
'Ten years ago he might've hurt me. But not now,'
Carter said. He gazed sadly at the crumpled man whose lif
emptied into a foreign land. ' 'He was tired of a dead-end des
job. He wanted excitement, adventure again. Something t
in. "
"Who was he?"
"A Cuban agent. "
Carter knelt and searched through the agent's clothing.
• 'How do you know?" she asked.
Carter worked rapidly, dumping wallet, credit cards
handkerchief, everything into a pile under the dim light.
"We're all players in the same game," he answered. "W
know one another, if only by reputation. "
Carter was looking for was not in the man's tElong
ings. He off the agent's shirt and examined it. H
unbuckled the belt.
"What are you doing?" Linda asked, her voice rising.
s 'I know you're afraid, " Carter said, still searching. H
tCX)k off the agent's pants. 'Go if you like. "
The girl twisted her head, looking around, obviousl
frightened. Cars passed infrequently in the street. The
17
17
pickup was still the only vehicle parked at the curb. The
jukebox music and drunken laughter were distant, safe
sounds. The complex of dilapidated cottages was quiet and
had the feeling of being deserted even though lights glowed
in some cottages. In this part of town, only the reckless or
foolish investigated gunfire.
S 'Who are you?" Linda whispered.
"Your employee. "
Carter stared at the naked man, vulnerable and flaccid in
death. He knew the information wouldn 't in the room; the
agent would keep it on him.
Carter picked up the penis and searched around the testi-
cles. Nothing. Then he ran his fingers down the almost
hairless legs.
"You must a spy," the girl decided.
"Must be," Carter ech«xd.
He found the tiny black dot between the first and second
toes of the left foot. He took an addressed envelope from his
pocket, stuck the dot in the upper-right corner, licked a
stamp, and put it over the micrqxlot.
' 'Wow!" the girl exclaimed. "You really are a spy!"
Carter grinned at her. Sbe was a street urchin again,
dirty-faced but now sparkling with youth and vitality.
' 'We'd better get out of here," Carter said.
He took her hand, and they walked away from the naked
dead man laid out like a slab of meat beneath the dim sign of
the Saguaro Motor Inn. ney headed back toward San An-
tonio's honky-tonk sounds of sobbing guitars and blaring
trumpets.
FOUR
To the north, hidden by the night, were the hills that
panish friars had chosen as a backdrop when they had
ounded San Antonio in 1718. Tonight, as usual, music and
he hot, oily aromas of chili and tacos wafted across the old
ity called affectionately by residents San Antone. Others
idn't love San Antone---or Texas. After visiting there in
866, General Philip H. Sheridan observed, "If I owned
exas and all hell, I would rent out Texas and live in hell. s'
Nick Carter reflected on this as he heard the lone pickup's
otor turn on. Some might hate Texas, but others loved it
nough to make the state one of the fastest growing in the
ation and San Antone the tenth largest But along
ith progress came evil. And evil was attracted to growth and
ealth to feed on-—and to to hide
The old pickup's motor idled and the headlights came on,
atching Carter and Linda as if swtlighted on a stage. She
med to stare. The battered pickup moved slowly up the
treet, following them. Carter hurried Linda along the
idewalk.
As the bar with the flashing gold neon boot came into
iew, they heard the pickup 's tires squeal with a sudden bunt
f speed.
MacDuff's Appaloosa mare tossed her head and whinnied.
he was still tethered to the mailbox.
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NICK CARTER
"What is it?" Linda's face was stretched in fright.
Carter yanked the girl into a run.
"l don't know," he said tersely. "it should over. "
ney raced down the sidewalk.
At this late hour, traffic was light. A few SEX)rts cars
Lincolns.
The pickup roared txhind them, rapidly catching up.
Using his as a shield, Carter slid the enve10FE into th
mail slot. The girl leaned against the box, panting. The h
nuzzled her shoulder.
Shots from the pickup rang out in the neon night, spittin
into the concrete around them. Heads, shoulders, and hand
waving drinks emerged from the bar with the flashing gol
Caner leaped onto the mare, pulled the girl up behind him
and turned the horse up the street.
' 'MacDuff! " someone called into the bar.
Carter and Linda galloped away, gunfire streakin
alongside them, away from the mailbox that contained cru
Cial information for David Hawk, head of AXE and protect
Of security secrets the President of the United States coul
enfrust to no other.
V They're catching up to us!" the girl screamed.
The horse's hooves revenrrated against the street like
drum roll.
Carter aimed the horse around a parked low-slun
Porsche, then down a dark narrow alleyway between tw
bars, too narrow for the pickup to follow them. Red, whi
and green lanterns—the colors of Mexico—glowed festivel
in the distance at the end of the long alley.
Suddenly, headlights burst down the alleyway, illumin
ing the horse and its riders.
0Fned and slammed shut.
*Ihe mare pounded on toward the sounds of a mariac
band.
Shots bit into the buildings on either side.
Running footsteps pursued them.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
21
21
Caner and Linda hunched low over the horse, and rode
into the patio party, where they were slowed by the throng.
An ornate water fountain splashed, entertainers in swirling
costumes danced, champagne corks popped, and—on the far
side of the patio---an sliding glass door led into a home
or business from which some partygoers watched in amuse-
mente
' 'Compadre!" a man yelled at Carter, raising his glass in
salute.
"Is this part of the entertainment?" one woman wanted to
know.
"If it isn't, it should be," said her companion.
A white-coated waiter lifted a tray of full charnpagne
goblets for Carter Linda as they walked the mare by.
*'Dom Perignon! " the waiter announced.
Caner and the girl each bent for glasses.
' 'Gracias," Caner said politely.
' Thanks, " said the girl in her soft Texas accent.
ne celebrators cheered and patted the sweating Ap-
paloosa as Carter and Linda rode around the tinkling fountain
and into the plushly carpeted living room of some wealthy
San Antone citizen.
"Isn't that MacDuff's mare?" someone asked.
• S SSure doec look like her," agreed another.
The mare held her head high as she stepped past mosaic
coffee tables displaying objets d 'art. She shied away from the
fireplace hearth spilling with red roses snorted at a
six-foot specimen of Spanish armor guarding the entrance to
the parqueted foyer.
Behind them, Carter saw four men weaving through the
crowd. All four looked Mexican; all had Indian features. One
of them wore a shiny black jumpsuit, while the three others
were dressed in green military fatigues with no identification
patches. Two of them had been in the cab of the pickup
pretending to be lovers, and the other two must have been
lying in the truck bed out of sight.
The party guests stared at the out-of-place intruders, and
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NICK CARTER
the intruders stared at Carter.
"Salud!" Carter said, raising his glass to the room of
Texans.
' 'Salud! Salud! Salud!" shouted the partygoers.
They drank the champagne. Brut—beautifully dry.
Carter leaned down, set his and Linda's goblets on a high
sideboard, and swung the eight-foot-high walnut front
Gunfire exploded into the helmet of the suit of amor.
Pieces of metal scarred the immaculate plaster ceiling and
walls.
nie Texans ducked.
And came up mad.
Enormous roars of indignation swelled the room.
Two big Texans instantly coldcocked two of the pursuers,
who collapsed uncomplaining onto the thick carpet, one with
a Luger in his hand.
A woman in emeralds, silk, and high-heeled
stomrrd the foot of the third man from the pickup. Her
companion punched the man 's stomach and then his jaw. Ihe
injured man grabbed the elegant woman for support, but she
kneed him and shoved him to the floor.
The • fourth intruder—the one wearing the black
jumpsuit—stood jittery, trying to decide what to do in the
where he was so badly outnumtxred. He had a young,
cruel face, and kept his hand inside the deep V of material on
his chest where Carter knew he kept a gun. But the crowd
didn't notice. They swarmed toward the man, laughing and
talking, putting more and more people between him and
Carter md the girl.
"Let's get out of here," Carter said.
'They liked the way you set the glasses down so po-
litely, ' Linda said as they again walked the Appaloosa to the
front doors.
' The Texas frontier spirit of generosity and instant retribu-
tion," Carter said.
She looked at him and smiled.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
'S You knew they'd like the mare, too. "
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THE MAYAN CONNECTION
'S You knew they'd like the mare, too. "
23
Carter grinned as they stepped through the foyer, but there
was a cool glint in his eyes as he looked back at his pursuers,
who were picking themselves up and retreating.
"Now I've got to find a telephone," he said.
He clicked softly to the mare, and she walked daintily
down the mansion 's brick steps, across the sidewalk, and into
the quiet street.
Caner and Linda rode MacDuff's horse along El
Paseo del Rio, skirting the glassy jade flow of the San
Antonio River. They passed a sign giving directions to the
Alamo, "the cradle of Texas " It was now a carefully
restored mission, a stone emblem to the tragedy of man's
folly and greed. Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie died in that
battle in 1836, and only seven Americans out of almost two
hundxed survived the Alamo slaughter, but they were cap-
tured and ordered killed by Mexican General Santa Anna.
'Though tortured before they were these unfortunates
died without complaining and humiliating themselves, ' ' Car-
ter remembered one of Santa Anna's staff members had
written.
"What are you thinking about?" Linda asked.
"Liberty. Its price," Carter said. He looked ahead.
SOThere's that telephone booth I need. "
Carter put in his dime and dialed.
g 'What's wrong?" Hawk's gruff voice was suspicious.
He 'd not expected Carter to call in, escpecially in the middle
of the night.
Carter kept his back to Linda and the horse. No need for
her to know more than she had to.
' 'You should receive the information within a couple of
days," Carter said. "It's in the package we agreed upon.
Mailed tonight. "
If Hawk were the kind of man who sighed with relief,
Carter knew he would sigh now. Instead, Hawk would lean
back in t*d, reach to the brass cigar box on his bedside table,
24
24
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
and carefully select a cigar. He would roll it, bite the end off,
aml light it.
Carter heard the click of a butane lighter and smiled.
"I trust you know what time it is," Hawk growled.
"Yes, sir. Four A.M. in Washington. I have something new
to report. "
"It will be dawn here shortly, N3. It is discouraging to by
to fall asleep once it is dawn."
' Three guys jumped me I got to the Cuban. One of
them had a scrap of paper on him. Only one word. Itzamnå.
The Mayan'god. Thought the connection might be important.
Also. four men in an old pickup tried to get me after I got the
agent. I think they were watching him, not me. No idea who
they could tp. "
Carter heard Hawk inhale and blow. By now there would
be a cloud of noxious smoke above Hawk's bed.
'Any other identification on the three who jumped you?' '
Hawk asked.
"Nothing. "
"And you 're sure the ones in the pickup weren 't Cubans?
They weren 't after you?"
' 'I'm sure."
He heard Hawk puff again.
"Fascinating," Hawk murmured.
' 'The microdot should clear up the Cuban mystery down
there," Carter said.
Far off, Hawk cleared his throat, his mind made up.
"You have a new assignment, Nick. The FBI, State, the
FAA, and the Justice Department have all called in the last
twenty-four hours. We've got an irate taxpayer in Albany
whose jet has been stolen. He's got money and inherited
influence—just enough to imtate people with work to do, "
Hawk said and chomped the cigar. "But his greed may have
been helpful. ne taxpayer thought he'd sold his jet, but the
cashier's check was phony. "Ihe buyer has vanished. And the
jet's been found abandoned in New Mexico with no clues
except a torn map of southern Mexico with Itzamnå scrawled
on it. "
THE MAYAN CONNECr10N
"Texas, Albany, and now New Mexico. "
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THE MAYAN CONNECr10N
"Texas, Albany, and now New Mexico. "
25
"Precisely," Hawk said. taxpayer has been com-
plaining to event agency he can think of. He wants his money
back. But it doesn't end there."
"Barkov?" Carter said, the hair on the back of his neck
rising. Colonel Maxim Barkov—not his real name, of
course---was the KGB chief in Mexico. An irrational killer.
Very useful to the KGB.
' 'You remember the report," Hawk said approvingly.
"You confirm my ability to choose the best personnel, "
Hawk cleared his throat after the unaccustomed compliment.
"British M15 has passed on the most recent deccxiing. I've
been wondering whether to act or wait. You've settled the
issue. Here's the situation. The KGB is worried about Bar-
kov. Odd actions and strange reports from him to them. From
what M15's been able to intercept, the KGB may be on the
verge of either pulling Barkov or investigating him. Ihat in
itself isn't particularly significant—Russian spies do come
and go—-but one report on Barkov mentioned Itzamnå. It's
puzzling the KGB, too. "
*'Do you want to start in Albany or Mexico City?"
Hawk gave a short, pleased laugh.
"Albany," he said. ' 'Go see the taxpayer—Duane
Michaels is his name. Then find that pilot. He's the most
direct link we've got to whoever or whatever Itzamnå is. ' '
As Hawk gave Carter the details of how to locate
Michaels, Carter heard the oncoming sounds of running feet,
whoops of success, and the mare's high-pitched whinny.
"Nick!" Linda shouted.
Carter whirled around.
The street was full of cowboys running toward Carter,
Linda, and the mare. MacDuff was leading, waving his
Stetson in a big circle his head, his handsome face
flushed and grinning from ear to ear.
MacDuff pointed an accusatory finger at Carter, but his
eyes glowed with merriment.
"Horse thief! " he shouted and leaped up behind Linda.
She suuggled to get off, but MacDuff laughed and
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NICK CARTER
wrapped an arm around her. He leaned down for the reins.
flicked his heels against the mare's sides, and wheeled her off
down the street.
' 'II buy Linda a drink! ' " MacDuff shouted back to Carter.
"Best ride she'll ever have!"
Caner ncxlded and waved, his mind now on the best jet
connections to Albany.
Linda settled back against MacDuff, resigned, and he
hugged her.
The crowd of drunk cowboys surged and reorganized
themselves to follow the Appaloosa, cowboy, and girl back
up El Paseo del Rio toward their favorite honky-tonk bar.
Глава пятая
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Albany, capital of the State of New York, displayed its
Dutch heritage in colonial architecture, tulip festivals, and
prominent names such as Schuyler, Van Rensselaer, and
Erastus Coming. Where San Antonio had the excitement and
dazzle of frontier fighters, Albany the hushed dignity of
successful bankers, businessmen, educators, and politicians.
Nick Caner thought this as he rode up the walnut-
paneled elevator to the top floor of the granite and limestone
office building. Female office workers in tasteful dresses and
pumps, businessmen in tailored three-piece suits, and an
unnecessary elevator (Fator in shott navy jacket and
pillbox hat didn 't necessarily mean money. But secretaries in
other cities sometimes wore polyester slacks with elastic
waists. Businessmen tried to fool their peers and clients with
off-the-rack suits frorn Penney's. And elevators with
pushbuttons didn't need operators to inquire respectfully,
"Which floor, sir?"
Carter ncxided at the sharp-eyed elevator (Fator and
stepped off at the top He walked to a wall of plate glass
windows that looked across the old Dutch city and the Hud-
son River. San Antonio's money was ostentatious. Albany 's
was tasteful—hidden but just as powerful. Ihe real excite-
ment in this city was behind closed doors.
Carter smoothed the lapels ofhis Savile Row suit, adjusted
28
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NICK CARTER
the sapphire ring on his right hand, and noted with approval
the shine on his wing tips. As he walked toward the secretary
who would be Michaels 's , he took out his gold cigarette case.
"Duane Michaels," he told her.
"Your name and business0"
She was a straight-from-the-bottle redhead with a long,
aquiline nose, mouth, and too much powder. Ihe
powder hid freckles that on another woman would be
flaunted and sexy. He watched as she calculated by his
clothes how much he was worth.
"Name's Nelson Calhoun," he announced.
He the case, took out a monogrammed cigarette,
and slipped the case back inside his jacket.
Her eyes flickered. Gold, the eyes said, five hundred
dollars.
*'My business is working for H. Banning Michaels,"
Carter said, lighting the cigarette. "Mr. Michaels wants me
to see his son about a missing aircraft."
' 'Of course, sir. "
Being impressed held more value to her than thinking did.
She pushed the intercom switch.
"Mr. Nelson Calhoun to see you regarding the
Gulfstream," she said.
"Who's he?" said a disembodied, voice. ' 'Not
the newspapers!"
"From your father," she said archly, glancing at Carter
conspiratorially.
There was silence from the other end of the intercom.
"You might tell him that his father has a solution to thc
problem, " Carter said mildly.
"Mr. Calhoun •says—" she began.
e 'I heard him! Send him in!"
Carter walked through double oak doors with brass
hardware that looked as if it came from an old whaling ship.
Michaels sat behind a long, wide, highly polished desk. The
desk was neatly piled with stacks of papers. A Cross ballpoint
pen lay 01M), ready to use. Whatever kind of businessman
Michaels was, at least he was one who worked.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
29
29
Michaels looked Carterup and down, stood, and extended
a hand.
"What does the old man say?" Michaels asked,
Carter shook the hand and arui sat in a red leather chair.
Michaels liked to get to the B)int. He had a fleshy face, a
paunch, and a sense about him of unimaginative competence.
"Do you want the jet repaired?" Carter asked.
s 'Hell, no! It's a white elephant. Outlived its usefulness. "
"No chance of insurance money?' '
' Only to repair it. ' ' Michaels leaned forward, his flabby
chest spreading across the papers. don't want it repaired. I
don 't want to waste time selling it again. I want my money. ' '
' 'The buyer pay you a fair price?"
Michaels's face flushed.
' 'I pay taxes, " Michaels complained. "I pay a lot of taxes!
I expect to protected, not defrauded! "
Caner smoked. As he'd expected, Michaels had over-
charged for the jet, and his greed had made him careless.
'Your father is prepared to make up your loss in exchange
for information, " Caner said.
Michaels brightened. His fingers ran like crabs across the
desk top.
'Vlhe entire loss?" Michaels asked.
S What the jet's really worth. "
"It's worth top dollar."
' 'It was worth comparatively little, " Carter corrected. s 'It
was old. Overused and not maintained. You had it washed
and polished, and sold it for new. Now it's an abandoned
wreck in a New Mexico desert. 'Ihe longer you wait, the less
chance you have of getting anything at all for it. "
Michaels pressed his fingers together into a church steeple.
He rested his chin on the tops of his fingers.
' 'Why does he want information?' ' Michaels asked cagily.
Michaels was searching for something to barter with. He
couldn 't help himself. A deal was much better if the other guy
got screwed.
"We're talking about H. Banning Michaels, " Carter said
NICK CARTER
30
30
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NICK CARTER
and smiled. ' 'He doesn 't have to tell you a damnul thing. His
money talks."
Michaels the son stood and walked to the windows. He
out. Clouds like mounds of whipped cream had
formed across the horizon. Michaels glanced at the clouds,
then looked down on the city. He knew he wasn 't going to get
a deal. His father was a good businessman.
"What dces he want to know?" Michaels said at last, his
back still to Carter. His father had four times the wealth
Michaels had, and control of a trust fund Michaels wouldn 't
get until the old man died.
' 'Everything you remember about the buyer and where he
might be headed. "
"All right," Michaels said briskly, staring down at the
city. He wanted the interview ended and Caner out of sight.
' 'He said his name was Tiger Santos. Ridiculous narne, but it
was on the cashier's check. He was dressed outrageously.
Wore a black jumpsuit made out of some kind of shiny
material .
Carter's eyes narrowed.
"And black boots?" he gaid. "Almost like a storm
troorrr's?"
"Yes, yes, " Michaels said, waving a hand indifferently.
else would you exFRct?"
"And his nationality?"
. how would I know?"
"Mexican .
Spanish
Michaels replied, annoyed. g 'I told you his name was San-
Carter and thought about the four men from the
pickup the night before, remembered the one with the cruel
face arui shiny black jumpsuit. Carter lit another cigarette.
'Go on," he told Michaels.
"Well, I figured the check was go«xl trcause he looked
like one of those hyped-up drugrunners you read atxjut."
Michaelsbarked a short, bitter laugh. "Joke was on me.
When the check bounced, I tried to track him down through
my contacts. He'd filed a flight plan to Montreal at the
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
31
31
32
Albany airport, but there's no record of his arrival in
Montreal. Then I went to the authorities. That's all I know. "
"Were the jet's tanks full?"
'Don 't know. ' ' Michaels shrugged. He didn 't care either.
Carter put out his cigarette and watched the square, over-
weight back in the expensive suit. Michaels loved money
even more than he hated his father.
"l appreciate your help," Carter said politely and stocxl.
Michaels tumed. The thick clouds on Albany's horizon
were tuming gray with potential rain.
"When do I get a check?" Michaels asked.
"Mr. Michaels will in touch."
Carter walked to the door.
"How do I know you're really from my father?" Sudden
worry sharpened Michæls's voice.
"You don't. "
Carter walked through the doors, past the secretary who
smiled hungrily, and toward the elevators. He heard
Michaels's doors close. Michaels, who had not spoken di-
rectly to his father in five years, would have the secretary
make the call.
"First floor, sir?" the elevator asked.
Caner ncxided and into the enclosure that smelled
faintly of gcxxi tobacco. The elevator moved silently
downward.
No one but Hawk knew Carter was in Albany. AXE 's need
for secret information had to tE protected. Duane Michaels
had once again suckered by his own greed.
Nick Carter walked the airport counter and flashed
the wallet with the official-looking gold badge. It wasn 't real,
but it was close. With AXE's sFutacular technology. its
equipment department could duplicate just anything in
the world. But the clever AXE techmcal staff discovered
that ersatz was more effective than exact. Exact copies
bothered people; they sensed intuitively that something was
wrong, even though they couldn't tell you what it was. But
NICK CARTER
****** Result for Image/Page 1 ******
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NICK CARTER
give them something slightly inferior—ersatz—and, like in-
flation and plastic automobile bumpers, most trlieved it was
real every time.
'Plainclothesman?' ' the boyish-looking airport employee
whisErred looking up from the badge. It said
United States of America and Government Agent, ami top
and bottom crescents framed a bald eagle in profile:
"Detective," Carter admitted, dropping his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "I need the flight plan Tiger Santos
filed two days ago. He bought Duane Michaels's Gulfstream
Commander. " Carter slid the wallet containing the badge
back inside his pocket.
' remember. " The young man rubbed his hands and went
to work. "Been getting a lot of action on that one. Mr.
Michaels sent some people in. They went through every-
thing. Not that I give information to just anyone. .
yes. Here it is. Very popular flight plan. And it is good to help
the law. People with important jobs need to stick together,
Want a copy?'"
"I'd appreciate it: "
"No üouble at all."
Caner took the copy from the smiling clerk, whose face
practically glowed with excitement. Clerical routine had not
dulled his enjoyment of life.
'Thanks, " Carter said. "You know your job. "
The young man was speechless with pleasure. Carter
shook his hand and left.
'That was a detective," the clerk confided to the next
customer. "Very important man."
Carter smiled inwardly as he read the flight plan. He noted
that the tanks had checked out with just enough fuel to get
Santos to Montreal. He memorized the number that would be
painted behind the jet's cantilevered wings. Then he looked
up into the busy airport, saw telephone stalls, and sauntered
casually to them. As he walked, his mind worked, putting
together the few clues he had, figuring the (Xids.
ГЛАВА ШЕСТАЯ
srx
The sky was almost gaudy with the colors of sunset. Reds,
oranges, and purples spread over the horizon as the sun
settled to Nick Carter's right. In the Hamilton Westwind III
he'd found waiting in Albany, he flew over Kingston, and
would soon be over Poughkeepsie, following—if his think-
ing were correct—Tiger Santos.
'Ihe Pratt & Whitney turboprop engines droned and vi-
brated reassuringly through the steering and into Caner's
hands. He liked to fly, liked the feeling of being suspended
over the earth. For a time it made him different. Set apart by
borrowed wings. And the earth rotating below was distant
with its global problems of avarice, disloyalty, and the per-
verted values Carter fought daily.
As he swung the aircraft west to avoid the traffic conges-
tion above New York City, he thought about Linda. He
wished for a moment he wasn't committed to the importance
of his work. But a man had to follow his beliefs. Perhaps he
would meet her again when there was time.
He angled south again, the sunset washed away by the
night's grays and blacks. Lights below twinkled like stars.
Highways were defined in streaks of white and red. Tiger
Santos had had just enough fuel in the Gulfstream to comfort-
ably ny north to Montreal. But he had not gone there. He
hadn't wanted anyone to know his real destination. He had
33
34
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
gone south instead and ultimately abandoned the plane in
New Mexico. What was the map of southern Mexico doing in
the cabin? Carter wondered.
lhe Westwind that Hawk had sent Carter was stripped of
passenger seats. Because it was lighter now, the turbojet
would get great distance with its oversize tanks. lhe tanks
carried 740 gallons, comfortably more than Santos's fuel
maximum of 474 gallons. Carter wanted the flexibility of
distance without refueling. And he wanted the cargo pod that
Hawk had sent. The pod contained two General Electric
miniguns and a special suitcase with AXE clothes and small
equipment.
Considering Santos's limited fuel, his jet could just have
made Philadelphia. Carter flew in a straight line toward the
city and circled above Philadelphia International Airport. A
thin, scudding bank of clouds was far atx)ve him. Below, the
runways were marked clearly, the lights flashing in sequence
with each plane that went in. To the east was the Delaware
River, black as ink
Carter listened to the chatter of air confrollers.
"Identify yourself, Westwind! " one demanded of Carter.
"Identify yourself! "
Caner ignored the increasingly angry voice. Instead he
listened to the other controllers and watched the sky around
him.
Slowly he descended until a break came in the traffic.
He tipped the turbojet 's nose into a quick landing descent.
The electronically retractable landing gear
dropped into place. He would go in secretly. If the G.E.
miniguns were discovered, he'd have too much to explain.
ne plane's three-blade propellers hummed, seeming to
catch the air as if it had substance.
Land rushed up.
Lights that had been pinpricks were suddenly walls.
He flew the turbojet between the walls of flashing lights
and skillfully touched the wheels onto the nmway.
He slowed.
THE MAYAN CONNECNON
35
35
Around him other planes came in, their engines screaming
and roaring.
He taxied the Westwind toward maintenance buildings
that loomed large and gray in the night. Lights made bright
rectangles of the windows where mechanics worked over-
time.
Carter parked the plane in front of a building that was
closed for the night. It was recessed trtween two larger
buildings and gave the AXE plane some privacy.
He hopped out of the B)ttside his Top-Siders springy
against the tarmac. He wore the clothes of a man of leisure:
tan silk slacks, simple plaid Madras shirt, and green
Sol jacket that showed good taste. His appearance would
generate no questions, only approval, at the Philadelphia
airport. Behind in the jet were his AXE suitcase and his
faithful companion, Wilhelmina, a 9mm Luger. Now he
carried only Hugo and Pierre, the tiny gas bomb strapped to
the inside of his upper thigh. He was after information, not
bodies. And he was in the United States, not in danger. He
didn 't want innocent people killed. He would run on his wits,
the surest weapon of all.
Carter into the main terminal of Philadelphia Inter-
national. Instantly he noticed the security guards. There were
too many of them, and they were alert.
He watched their eyes scan passengers, stewardesses,
pilots, desk personnel, cafeteria workers, soldiers on leave,
young mothers with babies---everyone. They tied to mingle
unobtrusively, and those out of unifom were more success-
ful. Still, their roving eyes gave them away.
Caner took out his cigarette case and walked up to one in a
shabby brown business suit. lhe man had heavy cheeks blue
with a need to shave even though he'd probably shaved once
that day already.
"Would you happen to have a light?" Carter asked and
smiled.
The man looked at him once, twice, and stared suspi-
ciously.
36
36
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NICK CARTER
"Sorry, " Caner said. "I think someone stole my lighter. "
Carter the gold cigarette case, selected a cigarette,
and held out the case to the security guard.
Ihe terminal swarmed with people. Babies cried.
Machines clattered. The air was thick with sound and too
many stale cxiors.
The guard around, allowed his eyes to dull with
tiredness, then he chose one of Carter's cigarettes.
"Thanks," the security man said.
From his pocket he took a book of matches with the name
of a local restaurant in watery blue and lit Caner's
cigarette, then his own.
They puffed in companionable silence.
Carter finished first and dropped the butt into an airport
ashtray.
"Must've had some excitement around here," he said
conversationally.
Carter guessed the guard had been a heavyweight
boxer or football player at one me. He had the beefy shoul-
ders, chest, and belly that came with the right kind of build
augmented by carbohydrates and rigorous exercise. Now he
was in his fifties, the muscles dissolving into fat, and he'd
quit lying to himself that life was going to be a series of
wins.
S' Yeah," the guard said. "Some."
He ground out the cigarette on the floor, took a packet of
Sen-Sen from his jacket, and dropped Sen-Sen granules on
his tongue.
' 'More than the usual smuggling and dor? " Carter asked.
Already the guard smelled of licorice from the Sen-Sen. A
go«xi way to disguise the taste of a stomach gone sour with
disillusionment.
"Who're you, buddy?" the guard asked.
His tired eyes completed one last scan of the enormous
room and settled on Caner.
"FAA," Carter said with authority. "Investigating an
airplane theft. Took place in Albany. We think the pilot
might 've brought it here to refuel or for some other reason. "
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
37
37
Carter recited the missing jet 's serial numtEr and tcx)k out
the wallet with the fake gold badge. It was a combination that
convinced the guard. The man's eyelids lowered with emo-
tion when Carter said the plane's so the look that
took in the badge was only a cursory glance.
S Three people dead," the guard said curtly. "Friends of
mine. One more in the hospital, intensive care. "
"The pilot?"
"Joker in a black clown suit. Got away clean, " the guard
said bitterly. ' 'When I was that age, I was skating with the
Toronto Maple Leafs. Goalie on the team that won the
Stanley in '47. We worked together. Played together. Helped
each other. A real team. " The guard lifted his sagging chin
and made a circle of his arms to include the entire airport.
g That bastard sneaks in hete, kills gocxi men, and leaves
laughing. What the hell's the world coming to?"
guard 's face was masked in the thick veneer that years
ofdealing with the public had given him. But now, outraged
misery showed through as if the mask were glass. It was a
new world where old values were laughed at.
"He flying the Gulfstream?" Caner inquired.
' 'lhe same. I sve seen a lot where I've been. Liars, cheat-
ers, con artists. What does it mean?"
"Ihe guard didn 't want an answer to the question. Didn't
believe there was an answer. But it was gocxi to ask anyway.
' 'What happened?"
"Far as I can tell, nothing," the big man said. "Landed
over by the steam roller. No one particularly noticed him.
Made arrangements for fueling. Paid cash. No big deal. He 'd
got no clearance to land, but the jet was small and the
airport's busy. It happens. Same time, three of my men were
searching a small cargo plane su:vcted of carrying cocaine.
So the fuel attendant makes some remarks to a friend about
the pilot's getup. Nothing loud, but they start laughing.
Called him 'Fairy-pants,' I was told. So the pilot takes
offense, rips his money back, and shoots the attendant dead.
Runs back to his plane just as my three men barrel out of the
jet. He stops long enough to kill two ofthem and get the other
38
38
+ 110%
NICK CARIER
through the spine. Then he flies out, laughing like a hyena at
the air controllers. "
Ihe guard shifted from one to another, now tired all
over.
"So you've been put on double duty," Carter said.
' 'People upstairs say we've been too lax. Shouldn't have
let it happen. Not in Philadelphia. ' ' A short burst of pride was
in his voice.
"Any leads on the pilot?"
The guard's face sank again into exhaustion, not just the
exhaustion of t(X) many hours on the job, but the
exhaustion of working in a world no longer familiar.
"None," he said abruptly.
'Ms. Julia Cunningham. Please report to Lost and
Found, ' ' a metallic voice said over the ailport's loudspeaker
system. "Ms. Julia Cunningham. "
The guard sighål.
'That's me," he said and extended a hand. you
find the bastard."
Carter watched man's broad, wrinkled suitcoat disap-
pear toward a white customer telephone on an airline counter.
His sharp eyes quickly noted that other security guards were
converging on otherwhite elephones. Ms. Julia Cunningham
was not the ccxie name for just the man Carter had been
talking with, but was a general call for all guards to report in.
Carter strode across the airport lobby, ducked amund a
comer, and ran down a deserted hallway. It had tEen five
years since he'd been in the airport, but his mind had tren
trained to rememberdetails. He pushed through a door
marked Exit and Locked. was hit by the sudden freshness
Of unfiltered, unprocessed air.
He took a deep breath, stuck his hands into the pockets of
his expensive slacks, and sauntered toward the fueling area
where Tiger Santos had killed three men and injured a fourth
two days before.
THE MAYAN CONNECI'ION
39
39
A man with grease to his elbows, a dead cigar butt in his
mouth, and critical look in his eyes glanced up at Carter.
' 'Who're you?" He pulled a wrench from the underbelly
of a light transport. "FBI? Let's see the badge. "
Carter grinned.
"You win," he said. 'Guess I can't fool you."
He showed the mechanic the badge. The man squinted and
grunted.
w Only the FBI can afford clothes like yours," the
mechanic said, pleased with himself. "If it's about that crazy
guy night before last, I wasn't here. Edie was. "
The rnechanic his head at a young woman in
coveralls sitting crosslegged beside a fuel pump, reading a
thick
Carter walked across the tarmac. In the distance, jets
taxied into the night, and airport buses and tucks made
rounds, carefully stopping at nmway intersections. 'Ihe fuel-
ing area was bright with light, and only the faint odor of gas
indicated the giant lake of gallons available there.
As Carter approached, the girl looked up, then stood, She
was thin, flatchested, with curiosity pennanently imprinted
on her angular face.
"I understand you saw the murders," Carter said as he
siopped beside her.
"l did," she admitted. ' 'Why do you want to know?"
C CIA," Carter said. g Tracking the pilot. He was in an
incident in Paris. "
would be right," said. "The CIA does only
intemational investigations. Do you have identification?"
She watched Carter, interested but still appraising.
Carter held up the open wallet with the badge.
'*Your agent's number and CIA aren't on it," she said,
peering closely at it and then at him.
c That's because of the agency's need for secrecy," he
said easily.
He closed the wallet. She didn't protest.
40
40
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
' 'Not even Washington, D.C., is on it," she said.
'With the CIA, it 's the country. United States of America.
You saw that. "
'Vlhat's right, " she said, brightening. "What do you want
to know?"
"Were you talking with the attendant who was killed?"
' 'I was mopping up, ' ' Edie said, clasping the book against
her chest. "Jack and Billy were laughing about the pilot. "
She was thin but soft. Older than she looked. Probably
twenty-five or twenty-six. She cradled the heavy hardcover
novel in her arrns and looked off across the tannac as if it
were the sea. In an earlier generation she would have affected
glasses to warn people she had a brain that liked to consider
life.
' 'Watching," she said. s 'I didn't think the tX)ys were
funny, but no one's asked me that. All the police wanted to
know was whether the pilot shot Billy and the others like Jack
said. "
"But you saw something else. "
She brought her gaze back to Caner.
'How did you know? " she asked, her eyes big and round.
Carter shrugged and smiled.
"I'm not really surprised," she decided. "You would
know. You're different, too." She watched him as she
talked. ' 'Two men. I wouldn't have noticed anything except
they were dressed too dark and they moved too fast. They had
black sweaters and pants on, and they mn to the jet without
lcx)king around—like they 'd done their looking before they
ran. You know what I mean?"
"l understand. "
She ncxlded.
s 'I don 't know who they were, " she wenton. "At the end,
oncof them stumbled and fell. The other helped him up. I
only saw their faces for a moment, then they got into the
plane. And then the shooting started. "
She was a woman not easily understocxi or appreciated by
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
41
41
the world. She lived alone inside herself, happy except for
the occasional loneliness that came when she remembered
that she had no one to share her dreams with. She looked at
Caner as if she'd found a soulmate.
'Vlhis is important," he told her gently. "What did they
look like?"
"South Americans, I think, " she said without hesitation.
' 'Or Mexicans. They had that Indian look to them. But ninety
percent of the people down there have Indian in them,
so I'm not sure that's important. Does it help?" She wanted
to help, her eyes said, to help him.
"It helps a lot," he said.
'Then you'd better leave. "
He heard the distant sounds of confusion and the gathering
of a mass of people.
"Harry's over there asking Ron questions," Edie said,
pointing back at the mechanic who had directed Carter to the
fueling area. "Harry 's in charge ofsecurity tonight. He looks
pretty mad. "
Harry was the security guard Carter had talked with in the
terminal. Harry listened to the mechanic Ron, then nodded
and glanced at Carter, His heavy face was growing ruddy
with an old rage recently refueled.
Your CIA badge is fake, " Edie said. "Butl don'tcare. I
know you couldn't do anything bad. "
Carter grinned.
Cffhanks," he said. "I try."
He kissed the cheek that smelled faintly of Ivory soap and
slipped into the shadows beside her. There was only one
explanation for Hany's Security had found the
jet with the miniguns, and Harry had connected the jet to the
stranger from the FAA asking questions.
Caner slid along the fueling area's shadows, watching the
security chief march to Edie. She talked to him, her fingertips
stroking the cheek were Carter had kissed her. Her eyes were
dreamy, and a small smile curled her lips.
Unifomed airport police and plainclothes guards emerged
42
42
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
on the tarmac from different enfry points. Some effort had
been put into organizing them.
Caner moved through the shadows while the security force
spread out. Harry shouted at some of them, gestunng that
they go in various directions.
Carter circled silently until he came to the end of the
shadow of a long building. Across from him was a wide-open
space of lighted tarmac. Harry stood in the center. Beyond
the former hqxkey star were more shadows that would lead
Carter back to the Westwind jet.
Harry surveyed the searching men, hands on his barrel
hips. He was an obstacle on flat feet.
An airport policeman walked by Carter, so close that
could smell garlic from the man's Italian dinner. *Ihe
gun he wore in the holster at his side glowed black and lethal.
Carter backed softly into the densest part of the shadow, flat
against the building, silent and still.
lhe man passed, the garlic trailing him like a dog.
Carter watched all the men, waiting for the moment when
their eyes were busy elsewhere, their backs turned.
When that split second came, he dashed soundlessly with
the speed of an ante101E He was the premier Killmaster, with
the accomplished skills and knowledge diat all men are
capable of but few are willing to achieve. He had the extraor-
dinary drive to set himself above all others.
Carter slapped a hand over Harry's mouth.
He grabbed his arm and dragged the former athlete into the
next path of shadows. The guard struggled, smart enough to
use his sagging heaviness as a weapon.
He threw himself back against Carter.
Carter used his legs as springs and pushed Harry against
the rough wall.
s 'I don't have a gun, " Carter hissed. "And I'm not going
to kill you or anyone here. "
Harry's eyes were wild with fury. His breathing was la-
bor«i with frustration. The aroma of Sen-Sen hung like a
cloud around his head.
THE MAYAN CONNECI*ION
43
43
"If I let you go, will you shc»t?" Carter rasrrd.
Hany growled deep in his throat. Then he ripped an arm
loose and violently bashed Carter's chest.
"Sorry, Harry, " Carter said, breathing hard. "You blew
it. "
He slammed a fist into Harry's double chin. Harry 's head
snapped back against the wall. The limp body slid down like
melting wax to the tarmac. Licorice smells drifted up.
Carter looked around.
The guards were still busy carrying out Harry's orders. If
Harry had been more rational and less emotional, he'd be
back out on the tarmac now, diverting his men so Caner
could slip back to the jet and get on with his mission.
Caner sighed and moved stealthily through the shadows.
Away from the fueling area, the smell of gasoline and grease
grew stronger. Water dripped from an outside faucet. Oily
rags were piled in a plastic bucket ready to discarded.
Carter moved on. lhe buildings were a series of squares and
rectangles with occasional splotches of light. Only a few
security men had investigated this far. Those few stepped
into the shadows and quickly out again; they had too much
territory to cover.
At last Carter stopped at the edge of another building.
Ahead was Carter's Westwind jet—guarded by three
armed airport police.
Nick Carter walked into the open space toward the three
young policemen. They were doing their jobs, loyal and
brave Americans, and Carter was proud ofthem. But because
of AXE 's need for secrecy, he couldn 't tell them who he was.
And if he didn't, they might, in the line of duty, kill him.
"Halt!" one of them cried out.
"AII right, men, " Caner said cheerfully as he continued
walking. "Who knows karate here0"
*Ihe three youthful police leveled their rifles at him.
' 'Who are you?" asked one.
44
44
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
' 'Identification! " another barked.
"I'm impressed," Carter said, pleased. "But it's impor-
tant to know martial arts, too. You might run into someone
like me. "
Carter broke into a run.
Ihe policemen's fingers were on their triggers.
Carter ran zigzags.
"Pay attention!" he shouted.
The young officers looked at one another, puzzled, not
willing to shoot yet, worried about the unarmed man running
crazily on the tarrnac.
Their fingers flexed.
"Feet! " Carter shouted.
"What?"
He leaped and sliced a foot into one young man's chin,
knocking him flat and unconscious.
The other two pulled out their billy clubs.
"Hands! " Carter yelled.
He spun and chopped the flat of his hand into the second
man's neck.
lhe policeman's eyes rolled up and he pitched over, also
out cold.
Carter swung back his elbow in a lethal punch that only
grazed the chin of the last man.
Carter tumed, surprised.
The young man had ducked. Now he crouched, his eyes
warily on Carter. He crab walked backward to the jet's door.
Still protecting, following orders.
"You learn fast, ' ' Cartercomplimented him. ' 'You've got
stamina and gocxi reflexes. "
The policeman pointed his rifle at Carter.
' This time I'll shoot!" he warned.
Carter nodded. He knew the guard would.
And he turned as if to walk away,
s 'Be sure to get some advanced karate lessons," Carter
advised.
THE MAYAN CONNECTION
45
45
Then he lunged back toward the young man in a somersault
rolled forward.
' 'Head! " Carter shouted.
Shots spit into the tarmac.
Caner came up and glimpsed the surprised eyes of the
oung policeman.
*Ihen he butted headfirst into a hard stomach. He stood up
let the immobilized youth drop, the wind knocked out of
Carter pressed his fingers against the boy's neck artery,
topping the to the brain just long enough for uncon-
sciousness to set in. He'd sleep for awhile.
Once the boy was out, Carter stood up and looked around
t the open space in front of the jet. No one was near. His
illmaster's luck had held. Still, he knew that luck wasjust a
fantasy. He made his own circumstances. He had knocked
t all three young men in less than two minutes. He hoped it
ad been a lesson for them: get more training or find a
ifferent line of work.
He dragged them one by oneaway from the jet, climbed in,
started the engines. He knew what his next stop was.
SEVEN
The Westwind rose in fre air like a giant bird, circled over
Philadelphia, and flew southwest above the twinkling night-
time earth. When Carter was on course, he picked up the
microphone and said the cc:xle words into the jet 's radio that
would connect him to Hawk.
' 'I I didn't wake you, sir," Carter said, listening
long-distance to the sudden explosion of air that told him
Hawk had just lit another cigar.
' 'Not this time," Hawk's voice said gnffy.
'I 'II be quick. " Carter told Hawk of the happenings at the
hiladelphia airport.
'Good work, N3. More Indian faces, eh?"
' 'Keeps reminding me of Itzamnå, the Mayan god.
' 'I'll mn a check on other airports—see if anyone else had
trouble night before last," Hawk said, puffing in the dis-
tance. "Where are you off to now0"
"New Mexico. "
hunting!"
Duane Michaels's abandoned Gulfstream turtx)jet sat
squashed and brittle on the New Mexico desert. Scattered
sage and junipers surrounded it on the rough sand a hundred
miles north of Santa Fe, not far from the Ojo Caliente River
where Tiger Santos—-or another pilot—had landed and left
the jet.
48
47
48
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
Already vandals had pulled out the seven passenger seats,
ripped wiring in the cockpit, stolen the controls, and un-
screwed nuts and bolts to take offthe turbojet 's soft tires. One
tire lay on its side, waiting to be picked up whenever the
vandals returned.
Carter went back to his Westwind jet for Wilhelmina. He
already carried Pierre and Hugo, and now he felt complete.
Desert vandals could be teenagers looking for thHlls, old
women looking for food, or scavengers with guns, a need for
money, and an absence of morals. This vandalism looked
like scavengers.
Wilhelmina securely holstered under his arm, Carter
walked back to the jet. Eventually Michaels's Gulfstream
would be completely stripped, its carcass left to a long future
with little decay and less interest on the lonely desert.
He searched through the litter inside the jet. The air was
dry and stuffy with the faint odor of dust brought in by the
boots of earlier searchers. Tom wall paneling, chair stuffing,
magazines, and Albany restaurant bills for Michaels 's busi-
ness associates littered the floor. Carter sifted through the
mess, impressed that the FAA had discovered the map frag-
ment of southem Mexico amid the rubble.
He found nothing of interest on the floor and worked his
way back along the walls to the cockpit. He ran his hands
over the instrument panel, checked inside the holes where
wiring and expensive navigational devices had been
out, and finally squatted on the debris to survey the chaos—
and think.
In the distance he heard the pickup. He walked outside,
Wilhelmina ready at his side, into the ancient land of the
Anasazi Indians. Far off, the s}Eeding pickup hurled clouds
of yellow and brown sand into the desert air. As it ap-
proached, Carter saw four modem cowboys waving mttles
of tequila and riding the pickup as if it were a bucking bronco
and each were a rodeo star.
lhe pickup tore across the gray and brown desert, ripping
up the rock and cobble borders that the Anasazi had built by
MAYAN CONNECTION
49
49
hand centuries ago into troughs to catch the desert's rare
rainwater. Five hundred years ago, the Anasazi had made the
arid wilderness bloom with corn, squash, trans, and berries.
The Indians had carved pueblos with thousands of rcx)tns into
the faces of sheer cliffs. They developed astronomy and
highly artistic forns ofpottery, and spread their culture over
New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Colorado. In those days,
more people lived in some parts of southwestem Colorado
than did now.
Carter reflected on this as he watched the whcxving cow-
boys approach in the sand-eating, trough-destmying pickup.
Two sat in the cab, and two were in the truck in back. The
quartet guzzled their tequila and shouted their laughter into
the pristine desert air. They had money to bum, and they
wanted more. These four weren't really cowboys—people
whose spirits were nurtured by land and animals—but vul-
tures waiting for death to feed on. mee rifles and a shotgun
stuck out at different angles from the pickup, casually
threatening any who might cross them. They 'd come back to
Michaels's jet to see what else they could steal to sell.
When they noticed Carter's jet, they whooped with drunk-
en delight. 'Iheir attention riveted, they sped up to the new
prey, stopped in a hail of sand and gravel, and leaped out
carrying their guns. Carter retreated under the wing of the
Gulfstream to observe.
"Another one! " cried a short stocky man. He threw his
Stetson to ground and jumped up and down.
"Hot "
"All ours!" shouted a second.
The second man was of medium height and weight, his
grimy red bandanna knotted so tightly around his throat that it
bobbed with his Adam's apple.
yelled a third. S'Maybe there'll be this
time!"
Thc third had long sandy hair pulled back untidily with a
rubber band. Dirt stuck to the hair, a glaze of brown grease.
He threw his arm across the shoulders of the second man, and
50
50
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
they gazed with anticipation at Carter's jet.
While the first man danced in the sand around his Stetson,
the fourth man stood silent and weaving , holding a shotgun in
one hand and a half-full bottle of tequila in the other. He
lcx)ked at the jct much as a cannibal does at an unexpected
visitor during a famine.
"Want to sell yours?" Carter asked, stepping away fmm
the Gulfstream. Greed had worked with Michaels; it should
work with these clowns. unfortunately, was reliable.
"Wh0's that?"
ne four men spun around, their eyes narrowed. The
quartet were all in their late twenties and early thirties, still
strapping with the remains of youthful muscle. But they were
old enough to have been around, their cagey faces said, and
experience was a painful teacher.
Caner patted the Gulfstream 's wing.
' 'Know it 's not much, ' ' Carter went on casually about the
wreckage, "but I'm in the business of refurbishing jets for
executives. This one would sure look once it was fixed
up again. "
The men glanced at one another.
"How much're you offerin'?" the fourth man said, the
tequila and shotgun dangling at his side. The oldest, he
looked suspiciously at Carter's Luger.
"It's worth a lot!" the one with the bandanna assured
Carter.
"Damn right!" said the one with the ponytail.
Now that Carter had their attention, he had to offer enough
to get what he wanted.
"How does twenty thousand sound?" Catter suggested.
"Dollars?" The youngest man scooped up his Stetson
from the ground, whirled it around his hand, tlrn plopB:d it
on his head. ' 'We're rich!"
"Now wait a minute," the oldest one said. ' 'What's the
"No catch. Straight deal," Carter went on, cradling the
THE MAYAN CONNECI'ION
51
51
Luger across his arm. ' 'Just let me see the ownership pa-
pers. "
*Ihe four men 's faces drooped with unhappiness. Even the
suspicious face of the oldest man was deeply disappointed.
'Ihe jet wasn •t theirs to begin with, but with amazing speed
they had forgotten that little detail. The amount of
incentive can make any desire seem like an accomplished
fact.
"Too bad, " Caner said sympathetically. "Guess I'd bet-
ter look for the salvagers then. "
' 'Salvagers?" the oldest one said, his eyes growing wily
with
"Sure. You know the law of salvaging," Carter said,
thinking fast as he made up a mle to fit the situation. "If the
owner abandons something for three days on land,
whoever finds it first and takes possession, owns it. "
ne men were saved.
'"Ihat's us!" yelled one.
' 'We were here first!" shouted another.
"Can you prove that?" Carter asked, his turn now to be
suspicious. "Twenty thousand's a lot of money."
Suspicion was something they understocxi.
' 'We saw each other! ' ' theyoungest man said. vmat's our
proof! "
"Sorry," Carter said, shaking his head. "l don't know
"We're the Shews," the oldest man said, pushing the
youngest aside. ' 'I'm Dan Shew and these here are my
brothers. " He waved the hand with the tequila bottle in an arc
to include the others. He was their leader, m, and intended
to keep the position. S 'Come over to visit now and again. "
"You stripped this jet," Caner said.
"Salvaged," Dan Shew corrected. He Smiled, showing
broken teeth and some intelligence. "It was just lying
around. Not gocxi for much otherwise. "
" 'Danny tried to start it up, ' ' the brother with the bandanna
said proudly.
52
52
+ 110%
NICK CARTER
' 'We work around here," Dan Shew continued methodi-
cally. He dealt with one issue at a time. "Fences, hauling,
like that. We decided to work on the plane, too. "
'Tell him how you tried to make it go, Dan. Go on! Tell
him!" The brother with the bandanna ncxided encourage-
ment.
"Shut up, Ronnie," Dan said without looking at him.
"Did you see the pilot when you got here?' ' Carter asked.
g 'I was the only one that saw him," Dan Shew said. € 'I
came alone the first time. And don't you try to tell him any
different! " Dan Shew glared at his brothers. 'Ihey dropped
their gazes guiltily. ' Vlhat's better," he told them. "It was a
Mex," he said to Carter. "A pretty Mex in dime-store
clothes. You know, all dressed up?"
"A shiny black jumpsuit?" Carter suggested.
C'Yeah. That's it."
"What did you do when you got here?" Caner asked the
oldest brother.
"Nothing, " Dan Shew said and grinned. "Never had no
plane land here before. I just watched. The Mex gets out and
stands by the plane for a while. Pretty a Navy jet lands
t(X). lhe Mex talks to the pilot, and they have some kind of
argument. Then they both get into the plane it roars off. ' '
*United States Navy?" Caner asked.
"Sure. What I said. "
' Vlhey talk to you?"
"Naw. It was like I wasn't even here. They were arguing
about where to go. *Ihe Mex wants to go to Chiapas. •nie
pilot's not sure, says he's got to hit San Antone first. Y'
"A U.S. Navy pilot?"
Dan Shew considered.
"Guess not, " he said at last. "Another Mex, and he's got
jeans and a T-shirt on. None of the regular pilot stuff "
' 'So Tiger Santos got out," Caner mused thoughtfully.
"And with a Navy jet. "
"You know, " Dan Shew went on, "I didn't steal nothin'
Went on home, told the boys all atY)ut it, Next day I come
MAYAN CONNECITON
53
53
back, and there's soldiers in uniforms all over the place.
Didn 't come back again until that afternoon. 'Illen everybody
was gone, just me and my brothers here. Us and the plane.
All I wanted to do was fly it. " Dan Shew drank from his
bottle and staggered. Two of the brothers promxxi him up.
' *fianks." Carter walked past them, toward his West-
wind.
"What about our twenty grand0"
'II mail it to you, " Carter said, "in care of the plane you
wrecked. ' '
"Salvaged! " the brothers chorused.
"Send it to the El Rito post office!" the youngest brother
decided.
Caner got into the Westwind.
'Well , so we took a few things from the plane, sure! ' ' Dan
Shew called out. "Might as well. We needed the money for
important stuff.
Caner closed the door From the cockpit, he watched the
brothers and started the motors. neir faces were slack with
hungry stupidity. He taxied the Westwind across the New
Mexico desert, junilxrs and sage catching at the plane's
wheels and wings, then lifted off.
552