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A violent fit of shivering overtook him, and he began
retching again.
Someone was grabbing at his shoulders, and when he
looked up, Carmella had pulled him within the tender's tiny
cabin, where she covered him with a blanket. Then she was
gone.
Something was wrong. The thought kept running over and
over in Carter's mind as the tender's motor roared into life
and they headed back toward shore. Something was very
wrong. She should not have been able to find him. Not with
six-foot waves running and in the darkness.
But then those thoughts faded as Carter slipped into a
semiconscious state where nearly everything was meaning-
less except for his own survival.
During the two-hour trip back, as the sun came up in the
east from Italy, Carter kept seeing images of Rojas and his
bodyguards. He kept seeing André Mallier, the way she
looked when she danced with the South American, and the
way she had looked in the nude when he had first seen her in
her hotel room below Rojas 's.
There was something about her, too, that didn't quite fit in
Carter's mind, although he knew he was not thinking co-
herently. But he did know that when her image came into his
mind, he became uncomfortable.
During the early dawn hours, he also kept seeing images of
Carmella as she had been in bed with him. She had been very
good, but during their lovemaking she had held back. There
had been a reserve that he had not detected then, or if he had
noticed, he had not assigned it any significance. He was
slipping. It was another thought that drifted foggily through
his semiconscious haze, but that vague feeling of having
missed something important remained with him.
At one point, the tender seemed to rise up and nearly roll
over to the right before coming down as if on a fast elevator,
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then the motion settled. They had made the harbor and were
out of the swells of the open sea.
Much later, it seemed to Carter as if they had stopped, the
tender just barely rocking as other boats passed.
For a while Carter was certain that both André and Car-
mella were there with him, helping him up, and helping him
off the boat and into a car. But he knew that could not
possibly be so, and he fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The day was marvelous. Puffy white clouds drifted slowly
in a bright blue sky, while a soft, pleasant breeze wafted in
through an open window.
Carter awoke in stages, aware first that he was alive, and
much later aware of the significance of that fact.
He was lying in a large bed, covered with a light blanket.
He was nude except for his Rolex and for the tight bindings
around his ribs. He felt battered, as if he had been run over by
a truck.
For a while he was content to lie there, relaxed, totally at
ease, free from any real pain, free from any immediate
danger.
Gradually, however, the realization of what had happened
to him imposed itself on his consciousness, and he came fully
awake with a start.
He sat up abruptly, a sharp pain stitching his side where his
ribs were taped.
"Christ, " he groaned.
Shoving the blanket back, he got out of the bed. He
managed to take only two steps before he stumbled and fell to
his knees, a wave of dizziness coming over him.
He was just getting up as André Mallier came in. She
stopped short for just a moment when she saw him, then
rushed forward to help him back to the bed.
"Where are we, what are you doing here, and where is
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Carmella?" Carter asked. He refused to lie back.
"In that order?" André asked, looking down at him. She
poured him a glass of water from the carafe on the night table
beside the bed. He drank it, then handed the glass back. He
- still felt very weak.
'Yes, in that order," he said.
'We are in a villa just south of Monaco. It belongs to an
old friend of my family," André said. "That also explains
what I am doing here.
"No, " Carter said. He was so tired. "Carmella picked me
up. She had the Princesse Xanadu's tender.
"Lucky for you."
"Too lucky. .." Carter started to say, but he cut it off.
"Are you and she working together?"
André laughed. "I don't know exactly what you mean by
'working together. ' But no, we are not. I was on the docks
looking for you when she came in. She asked for my help.
She seemed very frightened."
"'You were on the docks?" Carter asked, slumping back.
It was very hard for him to keep his eyes open, to keep his
mind focused
André nodded. She eased him all the way back, then
covered him again with the blanket. "Sleep, " she said. "We
"Where is Carmella?" Carter mumbled.
'She is here," André replied. "Why did Rojas want to
have you killed?"
"Beat him ... at gambling ..." Carter said. His
tongue was thick. It was difficult to form even the simplest
words. It occurred to him that he had been drugged. It was
probably in the water.
"Why are you after Rojas?" André asked. Her voice was
coming from down a long, dark tunnel.
"I don't. . . like him, " Carter heard himself saying. No
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more, his brain screamed. He couldn't take any more. And
his mind clicked off.
It was dark. The transition from bright daylight to night-
time seemed almost instantaneous. Carter still lay in the bed.
The windows were still open. Only now the breeze was
pleasantly cool, and stars shone in the sky.
He was aware that he was not alone in the room. In the
starlight he could see someone sitting just to the left of the
window.
Somewhere in the house he could hear soft music playing,
and from outside he could hear waves breaking on the rocks.
He got the impression they were far above the water. If they
were south of Monaco, that was probably true. A lot of the
houses there were built on the cliffs overlooking the Mediter-
ranean.
He raised his watch to eye level. It was a bit before
midnight. That was not totally unexpected. But the date. It
was the twenty-second. Monday. He had gone aboard the
yacht early on the morning of the twentieth. On Saturday.
It meant that Carmella had picked him up that same morn-
ing and had brought him back to shore several hours later.
It meant that he had slept all day Saturday, Saturday night,
all through Sunday, and all day Monday.
Sixty hours. Rojas would already be in Las Vegas. And
with his nemesis, Carter, out of the way, he was presumably
winning big in the States. There would be further payofts to
the French mercenaries and to the American mercenaries as
well.
There was some sort of a multinational force being
created. The English, the French, the Germans, and the
Americans were in on it. And the Caribbean was apparently
the place.
At first Carter was disturbed that so much time had passed
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with him out of action, but then he began to realize that, as it
turned out, everything might work for the best.
Rojas would be convinced by now that Carter was indeed
dead. Although Carmella was at large, Rojas would have no
way of knowing for certain that Carter had been rescued.
After all, the chances of a woman alone in a motorboat
finding someone floating in the middle of the Mediterranean
at night, with six-foot seas running, were next to zero.
There was something wrong with that line of thinking.
Carter sat up.
"How do you feel?" André asked.
"Much better, " Carter said.
"We were worried about you," she said. She was seated
in the shadows. She had not moved. "You had hypother-
mia."
Carter got a brief mental image of lying between two nude
women, but then the image faded, and he wasn't sure he had
remembered it at all.
'Carmella didn't think we should call a doctor. Word
would have gotten out. Rojas would have found out. "
"What are you doing here?" Carter asked.
"I've already told you-"
'Who do you work for, André?' Carter insisted. That was
what had bothered him all along about her. She was a profes-
sional. But her business wasn't the evening trade; it was
investigation.
She didn't say a thing.
"Interpol?" he asked.
'Sure, " she said.
'The SDECE? Do you work for French intelligence?"
"Sure. Them too, " she said. She got up from her chair and
came across the room to the bed, her body momentarily
silhouetted by the starlight. She was nude.
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She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed with
Carter.
"You know, " she said, "you talk too much about all the
wrong subjects and too little about all the right ones. You are
no professional gambler."
"I thought I did pretty well."
"You did all right," André said. Her body was incredibly
soft. Her legs were long, and her back and shoulders flaw-
less. She had let her hair down, and now it framed her lovely
face in the dim light.
He drew her to him, and they kissed deeply for a long time,
her body pressing against his, her breath catching in her
throat. He could feel himself responding.
"Who do you work for?" she whispered. "The CIA?"
"Sure," he said, kissing her long neck.
"The National Security Agency?"
"Yup, " he said, kissing her chin, then her throat, then
lingering at each breast.
"Mmmm," she moaned, her hips moving in a circular
pattern, her tongue wetting her lips. 'You are a cop of some
sort. " she said.
"So are you."
"No, " she said, breaking away. She propped herself up
on one elbow and looked down at Carter.
*No, I am not a
cop. But I, like you, am after Juan Rojas."
'You want him dead," Carter said. He understood now.
André nodded.
'He killed your father?"
"Yes. My father represented Citröen. It was an ordinary
business offer. But Rojas and his people thought differently.
They killed him. I know it."
'You tracked him to London, then here. Were you in
Baden-Baden?"
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NICK CARTER
"No," she said. "I had business to attend to in Paris. "
Another level became clear to Carter.
"You have followed
in your father's footsteps. You are an attorney. You work for
Citröen."
'You are very astute, Monsieur Carter. I represent Citröen
as well as a number of other French business concerns. But
the law is not what motivates me now."
"Rojas's death does."
'Will you stop me, policeman?" she asked. She eased
down and kissed his neck, then went lower, lingering at his
nipples, the sensation oddly pleasant to him.
She kicked off the blanket as she worked her way down his
body, past the bandages, until she took him in her mouth, her
fingertips caressing his thighs. Her mouth was warm and soft
and very pleasant, her long auburn hair spread out across his
legs.
For a time he just lay there, luxuriating in André's minis-
trations, feeling himself becoming more and more excited
Finally he reached down and drew her up to him.
For just a moment she protested, but then he was kissing
her breasts, and her legs parted for his caresses.
"Mon Dieu, Nicholas, " she breathed languorously. She
was moist and ready for him.
But then she pushed herself away from him and looked into
his eyes. She was smiling, her eyelids half closed.
'What is it?" Carter asked. He too was ready.
'You are a marvelous man, " she said. She reached out
and ran a fingertip across his lips.
"I am happy at this
moment."
"Because of this, or because you know you will ge
Rojas?"
She moistened her lips. "God, I ache for you. But it is :
nice pain. Do you understand that?'
"Stay away from him, André. He will kill you."
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"No, " she said. 'He does not know me. By the time he
understands what I have come for, it will be too late for
him. " Her hand lingered at the bandages around his side.
"Does it still hurt?'
"Listen to me—-you must back away and let me handle
this, " Carter said.
She laughed, the sound gentle. "You have only succeeded
in making him angry and nearly getting yourself killed."
'I want to know what he is up to. I don't want to merely
kill him."
''Then you are a cop."
"It doesn't matter what I am."
'No, it does not, '" André said. She lay back, drawing him
to her. "Make love to me, Nick. I do not think I can wait any
longer."
He entered her, but for a time he just lay there, deep inside
her, while she held him very close, hurting his damaged ribs.
But he didn't mind. She felt so good, her legs very long, her
skin soft, her breasts crushed against his chest.
Finally he began to move, slowly at first, in shallow little
teasing strokes, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. But then
they lost themselves to each other, and his thrusts were
deeper, with more force, and she was moaning and laughing
and murmuring to him. All the while they were making love,
André's eyes were open, and she was looking up at him, her
lips half parted, intense pleasure evident in her features.
"Nick. . . mon cher..." she said softly. Her mouth
opened as if to scream, her eyes widened, and her entire body
shuddered as she came in perfect unison with Carter, their
pleasure continuing in waves for a long time afterward,
leaving them both limp and drained.
For a while Carter just lay still while she caressed the back
of his head and neck, and he kissed her eyes, her nose, her
lips.
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"It has not been like that for me for a very long time," she
said at last.
"Did you enjoy it?"
Carter drew away from her, but not too far. He reached
down and kissed her deeply. When they parted there was a
quizzical look in her eyes. "Yes." he said. 'I enjoyed it very
much. Perhaps too much. "
"What do you mean?"
"Now I'll have to worry about you," he said. He kissed
her again, and this time when they parted he got out of bed!
She sat up. There was a little smile on her lips. 'You are
incredible, Nick, " she said
"First I need my clothes. '
Then a smoke, and finally
something to eat. I'm starved."
She got out of bed, her whole body stretching in content-
ment. "I am going to take a shower in the other bathroom.
You may use this one. " She pulled on her robe that had been
draped across the chair. 'Your clothes are here in the closet.
there are cigarettes on the chest. and Carmella has fixed us
something to eat. It is in the kitchen."
"Where is she?"
'Sleeping. It is late. She was very tired, " Andre said
'She was distraught. She is frightened out of her mind about
Rojas. It was a very brave thing she did for you."
Carter just nodded, and then André turned and left. For a
moment he just stared at the closed door. How in hell had
Carmella found him out on the open sea? It still did not make
any sense.
Twenty minutes later Carter had taken a long hot shower
followed by an icy cold blast that instantly cleared the last
cobwebs from his head. His clothes had been cleaned and
were in the closet. Even his weapons had been carefully
cleaned and oiled.
When he was dressed, he lit a cigarette and went into the
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other part of what turned out to be a very large house. His
bedroom, along with several others, were on the ground
floor. Up one flight of stairs, overlooking the cliffs that went
down to the sea, were the main entrance, the living room, and
the dining room. The kitchen, from where a light was shin-
ing, was to the far side of the house.
André hadn't finished dressing yet, so Carter rummaged
around in the refrigerator, finding a bottle of good white
wine, a light potato salad, some sliced meats, cheese, and
smoked fish. A long, crusty loaf of bread and a pot of hot
Dijon mustard was on the table.
He had just begun his meal when André came in. She was
dressed as if for travel.
"I see you've found the snack Carmella prepared, " she
said, sitting down across from him.
Carter poured her a glass of wine. "Are you going some-
where?"
"Yes, I'm taking the early flight to Paris."
"I see. And then perhaps Las Vegas?"'
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. 'Yes, Nick, I
will go to Las Vegas if that is where Rojas has gone. It is my
job."
"I can have you stopped."
She smiled wanly. "You are a policeman."
Carter said nothing.
"As a private citizen, I don't believe you could stop me
from traveling to America. Or could you?"'
Carter figured he probably could. But it wouldn't do much
good. From what he already knew of André, he figured she'd
find a way to get there no matter what obstacles she encoun-
tered.
"Can you at least wait until I get there?"
"Why don't you come with me?"
"No, " Carter said. "I have to du something with Car-
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mella. She's going to have to be put in safekeeping some-
where until this is over with. If Rojas gets near her, he 'll have
her killed."
'Where will you go?"
"I have friends."
André looked at him for a long, pregnant moment.
"T11
bet you do, " she said.
It was nearly three by the time they had finished eating and
talking. André had already packed the overnight bag she had
brought from the hotel. Her other things would be sent along.
He kissed her good-bye at the door, then watched as she
roared off in a small Fiat convertible.
He was worried about her already.
THIRTEEN
There had been a problem about Carmella's passport. She
had left it with her other things aboard the Princesse Xanadu,
so she and Carter flew first to Paris, where they took a cab
immediately to the American embassy.
The ambassador was not there, but the chargé d'affaires,
after a brief call to Washington-not in Carmella's presence,
of course-became very cooperative.
By noon a representative of the Brazilian embassy had
come over to the American embassy, and by three he had
produced a new passport for her.
"Is there any trouble for you here, Senhorita Perez?" the
Brazilian representative asked.
Carmella shook her head. 'No, " she replied. "I merely
lost my passport while traveling with Senhor Carter. He was
kind enough to enlist the aid of his own embassy."
The Brazilian bowed and shook Carter's hand. "Then,
Senhor, on behalf of my government I would like to thank
you for helping one of our citizens.
After he left, the chargé d'affaires got them a staff car out
to Orly, and the embassy aircraft took them across the Chan-
nel and into London's Heathrow Airport.
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NICK CARTER
During the trip from Monaco to Paris, Carmella had not
said much. As André had said, Carmella was definitely
frightened. So frightened, in fact, that she trembled most of
the way. One of the flight attendents had even inquired if she
was ill.
Once they had gotten to Paris, however, she had become
more like her old self. Especially in front of the representa-
tive from her own embassy.
"What are we doing in London?'" she asked after they had
cleared British customs and were heading across the vast
terminal to the cab ranks.
"I've got to find a place to stash you, and then I'm going
on to Las Vegas."
Carmella stopped dead. Her eyes were wide. "God in
Heaven, you are not going to Las Vegas after Juan ..."
'Yes, I am."
"After what he has done to you?" she screeched. Pas-
sersby looked their way.
Carter said nothing.
"When he finds out you are alive he will kill you. Make no
mistake about it. And this time he will be successful."
"He'll certainly try."
Carmella just looked at him but said nothing more until
they had gotten a cab and were riding into the city to the
Arlanda, a small, inexpensive hotel on Longridge Road.
In Paris, Carter had arranged for the hotel, and he had also
arranged for someone from their London office to keep an
eye on it and on Carmella.
He still had his doubts about her because of how she had
found him in the water. He had asked her about it-not
pressing, just curious-but she had not been able to come up
with any reasonable explanation of her abilities.
There was more than an even chance, he figured, that the
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entire thing had been arranged by Rojas. She had been set out
in the tender, the yacht had made a very wide circle, coming
back to near where she was, and then they had tossed him
overboard.
If that was the case, then Carmella would have to be
watched. If she took off, they'd know she was working for
Rojas. Rojas wanted to know who Carter was and for whom
he was working. He'd do almost anything to get that informa-
tion.
"You and Juan are very much alike, you know, " she said
as they sped away from the airport.
:: "Oh?" Carter said.
"You are both pig-headed, stubborn men with dangerous
streaks, " she said. She looked into his eyes. 'You mean to
kill him, don't you?"'
''Probably."
"Why?"
Carter laughed. "What do you mean, 'Why?' Christ, he's
tried to kill me at least twice. And he damned near succeeded
the last time."
"But what are you after, Nick? Why did you come after
him in the first place? Who do you work for?"
Bingo, Carter thought. 'I'm a gambler, Carmella. He was
a mark."
She shook her head in irritation.
"I thought we had gotten
beyond that fiction a long time ago."
"What are you talking about?"
"André is no prostitute. I know that now. Juan thinks she
is convinced he killed her father. It is ridiculous, but he thinks
she works for Citröen and that they are out to get him."
"What do you think?"
She looked at him shrewdly. "I think you are a policeman,
Nick. André thinks that too, you know.
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"A cop?"
Carmella nodded.
''And evidently I'm after Juan."
Again Carmella nodded.
"I see. That also must mean that he has done somethin;
wrong. Or else why would you think a cop would be afte
him?"
Carmella started to protest, realizing the corner she ha
backed herself into, but Carter, held her off
"Just what has Juan done, Carmella? Why does he nee
money from gambling? And why was he meeting
wit
French mercenary soldiers aboard the yacht? And they men
tioned something about British and German and even Ameri
can mercenaries. Just what is he up to?"
"I do not know what you are talking about, Nick, " sh
said. Her eyes were very wide. She was panting.
"I ju!
asked why you were so intent on coming after him. You'v
been acting like a cop. You tell me what you think he has don
wrong."
Carter took her hands. "Listen to me, Carmella. I'm not
cop. But from what I've seen in just the last week, he's done
great many things wrong."
"Such as?"
"He's obviously cheating with his gambling. The decl
were rigged in Monte Carlo. And here, at the Alhambra, th
young dealer I kicked away from the table was working fr
Juan; I'd bet my last dollar on it. " Carter smiled. 'That's ba
enough, but then the man tries to have me killed. If it hadn
been for you, I'd be dead right now."
She sat very still.
"You still love him, don't you?" Carter asked gently
She opened her mouth to speak, but then she backed of
leaning her head against the seat. "Yes," she said at last, h
eyes closed.
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"Did he send you to spy on me?"
"No, Nick!" she protested, sitting up and staring at him.
"I could not let him kill you just like that. But please do not
go to Las Vegas! Nothing will stop him!"
'What is he up to, Carmella? What's he doing?'
She turned away, her clenched right hand at her mouth.
'Do not go after him, Nick. Please.
They rode the rest of the way into the city in silence. At the
hotel they registered separately. Their bags were being sent
from the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo and would arrive later
that evening.
"I do not feel like eating dinner tonight, Nick, " Carmella
said. They were in her room, having a glass of wine. "At
least not out. I will have something sent up, and then I think I
will go to sleep early. I am exhausted. "
"I understand, " Carter said.
They kissed. When they parted she looked up into his eyes.
'You are not going to leave me... tonight?"
Carter kissed her again. 'No, but I am going to go out for a
while. Maybe back to the Alhambra. I've been cooped up for
too long. You'll be all right alone here?"
She nodded. 'In the morning we will figure out what to
do. Tonight I will try to think of some way of keeping you
from going to Las Vegas. "
Carter managed a smile. "Sleep well, " he said. "Tomor-
row we'll talk more about Juan."
Both of their rooms were on the fourth floor at the front of
the hotel. It was nearly seven o'clock when Carter got back to
his room. He went to the window and looked down at the
street.
Across the way he spotted the AXE legman. There would
be one at the back of the hotel as well, just in case Carmella
decided to try to slip away.
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NICK CARTER
He checked his weapons and left his room, taking the
elevator down.
At the desk he left a message for Carmella saying that he
would be back sometime after midnight, then he stepped
outside and had the doorman hail him a cab.
He made no attempt to communicate. with the legman
across the street, and within a minute or so, he was in the back
seat of a taxi and around the corner out of sight.
The cabby dropped him off on Old Bond Street, a few
blocks from Piccadilly Circus. The weather was mild, and
the area was alive with its usual assortment of strange people.
Piccadilly was very much like Times Square in New York
City. The dregs of the city often congregated there.
At the corner of Old Bond Street and Piccadilly itself, half
a block from the Royal Academy, Carter ducked into a phone
booth and telephoned British Airways reservations, booking
a first class seat on the Concorde SST flight to Washington
first thing in the morning, with connections to Las Vegas.
He'd be in the American gambling capital in time for lunch, a
very early lunch, the reservations clerk assured him.
He went around the corner and sauntered up Piccadilly
toward Soho with its porno shops, inexpensive restaurants,
and private clubs. There were a lot of hookers and drug
dealers working the streets that evening, but something in
Carter's looks and bearing kept them from approaching him
or pushing it too far if they missed the first signs.
Carter entered a small strip joint where he had a member-
ship card from years ago.
He had to pay the cover charge, and once inside he sat
down at the small, narrow bar. A very thin girl of no more
than thirteen or fourteen was on the runway fumbling with the
catch on her G-string.
Carter ordered a beer, the only drink they didn't water
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down, and paid for it with a twenty-pound note.
"Keep it, " he said to the burly bartender, who shrugged.
"Whaddaya want, mate?"
"I'm looking for Vincent Doyle. Seen him around
lately?"
"You a copper?"
"Do I look like one?"
"Who knows?"
"I'm an old buddy of Vinnie's. We fought together in
Chad a few years ago. I knew him from 'Nam in the early
days. I owe him some money."
"Crap!" the barman swore.
"No one ever owed Vinnie
any money—" He stopped himself, realizing his error.
Carter grinned. "I'm not a cop. Vinnie and I really are old
friends, and you're right; no one ever owed Vinnie a dime."
"Whaddaya want 'im for?"
"I'm just in town between jobs, you know. Thought I'd
look him up, have a beer. This is his hangout. Or at least it
used to be. " Carter glanced up at the young, flat-chested girl
on the tiny stage and shook his head. 'Never understood it,
but he always did like the young stuff."
"He's upstairs, " the barman said, stuffing the twenty in
his pocket. "I'll tell 'im you're 'ere."
Carter got off his barstool. 'Never mind, I know the
way, " he said. "Give me another couple of beers."
The barman opened them, and Carter passed him ten
pounds. "Keep it."
'Twenty-seven," the man said
"Right, " Carter said. He took the beers around behind the
stage, then went up a narrow flight of stairs to the rooms.
The hallway was very dark and smelled of urine and
unwashed bodies. There was a lot of noise from one of the
rooms; it sounded as if someone were being killed. In this
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section of town, and in a place like this, it definitely paid to be
deaf, dumb, and blind. It was healthier that way.
Doyle, whose full name was Vincent Quentin Doyle-
Handyside III, had been born just south of London to a
well-to-do family. Something had happened in his early
school days, something he had always refused to talk about,
that had made him the black sheep of his family. He joined
the service at the tender age of fifteen, faking his ID card, and
just managed to hit the tail end 'of the fighting in Europe.
He was in the middle of Korea in the British counterpart of
the Rangers, and afterward he had commanded his own
mercenary forces first for the French in the fifties in Vietnam
and later all across Africa.
Carter had heard of him in Vietnam, and then he had
worked with him on several occasions during the problems
that seemed to plague the African continent during the turbu-
lent sixties and early seventies.
Doyle had all but dropped out of active service after that,
but all his old cronies kept coming back to him. Over the
years he had become something of an expert at putting things
together, as he called it. He could find the arms or the buyers;
he could find troops or knew the trouble spots where troops
were needed.
Doyle was a man whose ear was firmly to the ground. He
knew everyone and everything in the business, and had
become a very valuable friend to Carter, who never used him
without returning the favor in one way or another.
When Carter had first figured out that Rojas was dealing
with mercenaries from at least four countries, he thought
immediately of Vinnie Doyle. If anyone knew what was
going on, Doyle would. Even Whitehall conferred with the
man from time to time. Unofficially, of course.
Twenty-seven was at the end of the corridor. Carter put his
167
ear to the door, but he couldn't hear much of anything,
although there were the occasional sounds of someone in the
room... fabric rustling, a cough.
He tried the door. It was unlocked. He took a deep breath
and steeled himself for whatever he might find. The last time
he had burst in on Doyle, the man had been tied to a chair, his
body streaming with blood from a hundred tiny cuts, as four
young girls, nude, faces and bodies made up with their
versions of Indian warpaint, were cutting him with small
knives.
"I don't know what makes me do these crazy things, " he
told Carter once. "I get all tanked up, and something pops
into my head: 'Say, that'd be fun, wouldn't it?' I don't know.
How's a person to understand everything that goes on in his
own head..?"
Carter pushed open the door. Doyle lay on his back on a
narrow bed while two young teenaged girls were caressing
him, themselves, and each other.
"Christ, " Carter said.
"Who is it?" Doyle sputtered, sitting up and shoving both
girls aside. 'Who the fuck is it?"
"You goddamned pervert, " Carter shouted. He grabbed
the girls' robes and tossed them across the room. "Scram!
Both of you!"
Giggling, the girls slipped on the robes and left. Doyle
propped himself up on one elbow.
'Who the hell do you think you . . " But then recogni-
tion dawned in his bleary eyes. 'Jesus H. saves us. Carter?"
he shouted. 'Nick Carter?"
"One and the same, you bastard, " Carter said. He handed
the man one of the beers, then pulled over a chair and sat
down next to the bed.
Doyle drank deeply of the beer, his Adam's apple rising
168
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NICK CARTER
and falling. "What the hell are you doing down here in tl
slums? Don't tell me you've gone weird like the rest of us.
'Not yet, Vinnie. I came for some straight information.
Doyle laughed. He drank the rest of the beer and tossed ti
bottle aside. Carter handed the man the other beer. "A
right! This is one son of a bitch who knows! Better belie
it!"
"Juan Rojas. The name mean much to you?"
Doyle's eyes seemed to cross then uncross. He chuckle
then drank some of the beer. 'Somalia. Don't know exact
what's up, but Somalia's the place."
"Africa?"
"Right-o. The Gulf of Aden. Oil country, I'd guess.
"What's he doing there?"
"Gathering troops. The eagles are flocking. Big buc
from what I hear. Slice of the action. "
"What action?"
Doyle shook his head. 'You know, it beats hell out of m
But something's going on over there. If I wasn't tied up, 1
be in on it. Got a slice of the small arms ammo deal. Nett
me a few grand. Let me live, you know, for a month or s
Doyle had been, at one time, the perfect specimen o!
battle-hardened troop in class A physical and mental con
tion. Now he was nothing but a gone-to-fat slob whose bo
was criss-crossed with scars, some from battles, others fre
less noble pursuits.
Carter noticed a lot of needle tracks on the veins in
forearms. Doyle was doing drugs these days too. Car
shook his head. Doyle noticed it.
'Well, if it isn't la-di-da time! Gettin' too good for
likes of us?" Doyle finished the second beer and threw
empty bottle toward Carter, who ducked it easily. "You:
of a bitch. Scare away my birds, then insult me. Insull
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injury, I say——insult to injury."
"What else, Vinnie? How long has this Somalia thing
been going on?"
Doyle sat up, then leaned against the wall. "Don't know
for sure. I first heard rumbles a couple of months ago. The big
times started coming down a few weeks ago."
"Big times?"
"You know, money—dollars, pounds, marks, francs—
that sort of nosh. The loot started flowing just a few weeks
ago. Before that it was mostly all talk. Interesting talk, mind
you, but just gummin'."
"Somalia is a big place, Vinnie. Can you be a little more
specific?"
''Oh, sure, " Doyle shouted. "Brings me two lousy, fuck-
in' beers, and now he wants the bloody Britannica. " He
reached back with a fist and slammed on the wall. "Hey, how
about some beers here for a payin' customer?" He pounded
on the wall again.
A young girl wearing only a flimsy, see-through nightie
appeared at the door. She looked to be about thirteen. "You
bastard, what's all this noise?'
'Show her your cash, Nicky."
Carter gave her fifty pounds. She almost fainted at the
sight of the money. But she took it.
'Beer, luv, " Doyle shouted. "An entire case of it. And be
quick about it before I get more pissed off than I already am. "
"Somalia, Vinnie. Where are the eagles flocking?"
"A little place just inland from the gulf, from what I
hear."
"That's a big coast."
• Doyle shrugged.
"Don't get coy on me now. Not after all we've gone
through."
170
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NICK CARTER
You can't drink the whole bloody case yourself, yo
know, and it's already paid for.
'Maybe not, but I can throw it out the window."
Doyle just looked at him for a long minute. "You woul
too, wouldn't you, you bastard?"
"You bet I would, " Carter said. His heart was breakin
for the man. Doyle had never led an exemplary life. But ju:
now it appeared as if he were at rock bottom.
"Yeah,' Doyle said. "A camp about five miles inland
somewhere between Ankhor and Berbera."
"Oil. " Carter said half to himself.
'You're goddamned right, my friend. Oil. Fascinating
ain't it?"
"How about their plans?"
"Not a tickle."
"I'm serious, Vinnie."
"So am I, Nicky, honest to God. "
"How about their ordnance? Anything I should kno
about?"
"Usual small arms crap. They're going mostly Israeli th
time with Uzis, but they've got a few Kalashnikovs fro
what I hear, although those pieces of iron are getting hard
come by just lately."
"What else?"
"Mortars, grenade launchers."
"And?"
"I wouldn't hold out on you, Nicky!"
"Sure you would. What else?" Carter snapped.
"All right, all right. Rocket launchers. SS-fives."
'Russian?"
'One and the same. Surface-to-surface."
The beer came. Doyle opened a bottle and drank it straig
down, then opened another. Carter opened a beer for himse
"What do you make of it, Vincent?"
171•
Doyle grinned. "If it were me, and I was running the
show? What would I be doing there?"
Carter nodded.
"I'd take over the goddamned country, no sweat, and
there wouldn't be an oil ship coming through the gulf that
didn't pay a toll. A heavy toll."
FOURTEEN
Carter walked the few blocks up to Oxford Circus before
catching a cab back to the hotel. He had actually planned on
going out to the Alhambra that evening for a little gambling,
but his heart was no longer in it. Not after seeing Doyle.
There was little doubt in his mind that Doyle was correct in
his assessment. Everyone had been watching Rojas, waiting
for him to move in the Caribbean, while all along his inten-
tions had been in another, totally opposite direction.
Somalia. Africa. It used to be French but had a history of
British occupation. Mostly desert, some interior highlands.
Always seemed to be a lot of trouble out there of one sort or
another. Never could get along with her neighbors.
But that was about the extent of Carter's knowledge of the
country, except that its capital city was Mogadishu, which
had been an active British port at one time.
Actually, it was a beautiful setup. The Americans and the
Russians were vitally interested in the area because of the oil.
Presumably Rojas was working under the Soviet im-
primatur so that when the shooting began they wouldn't do
nuch. The U.S. government would probably be too busy
elsewhere to respond as quickly as would be necessary.
173
174
174
NICK CARTER
Once the shooting began, Carter doubted the war woul
last longer than twelve hours tops.
Take over the capital, the military and police barracks, th
radio and television station, and the other ports, and it woul
be all over. As Doyle said, no sweat.
It would take two elements to accomplish that, however
The first was Rojas himself—he gave the orders—and th
second would be the ordnance, especially the rockets.
Back at the hotel, the cabby dropped Carter off at the fror
entrance. Before he went inside, Carter glanced across th
street. The legman was still there. Evidently Carmella ha
not moved from her room.
He was surprised. Perhaps he had been wrong about he
after all. Perhaps she was just an innocent young woman wh
could not decide where her loyalties ended and her sense ‹
morality and decency began.
He stopped at the desk to check for messages. There wel
none for him, nor had Senhorita Perez called for hers.
That was surprising too, Carter thought as he turned awa!
He would have thought Carmella would have been down hel
checking on messages, perhaps phoning out.
Another chilling thought struck him, and he went back 1
the desk. "Senhorita Perez, ' he said. 'What did she has
for dinner?"
"Sir?'" the startled night clerk asked
•Senhorita Perez-did she have food sent up to h
room?"
"Why, no, sir. There have been no calls in or out of yo
rooms.
"Christ, " Carter said, and he raced to the stairwell, to
open the door, and headed up the stairs, taking them two al
three at a time.
She was in love with Rojas, and only recently had si
come to understand exactly what he was. She had seen wh
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DEATH HAND PLAY 175 he had done to Carter, and no doubt Andre had talked with her about what Rojas had done in France. It all had to add up to a gigantic paradox for the mixed-up young woman. An insolvable problem. He came to the fourth floor, flung open the door, and raced Isown the corridor, skidding to a stop at Carmella's room. He nded on the door. "Cannella!" he shouted. "Cannella!" There was no answer. A couple of doors along the corridor nod, and heads poked out. "Someone call an ambulance. ity! It's an emergency!" he shouted. He pounded on the door again, then reared back and slammed into it with his shoulder. The wooden door opened lily, the lock and chain pulling out with a pop. • Carmella was in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. A ft light was burning in the comer, and the television was aying softly. Some British comedy. Carter approached the had very slowly. Carmella appeared peaceful, as if she were sleeping, but he knew better. He had seen enough dead people to understand that Cannella was not merely sleeping. He touched his fingertips to the carotid artery in her neck, but there was no pulse. Already her flesh was cool to the touch. On the night table was a pill bottle and half a glass of water. Carter picked up the bottle. It was a prescription for sleep-ing pins from a Paris pharmacy. He opened the bottle and looked inside. He looked again at Cannella, and he noticed a Slight grimace on her face. As if she may have died in some pain. Or at least felt pain while she was asleep. The pill bottle was nearly full. She had not killed herself with anoverdose. Carter bent down over Carmella's body and sniffed her lips. There was the faintest odor of almonds. He shook out
176 NICK CARTER
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NICK CARTER
one of the capsules and opened it, pouring its contents into
the palm of his hand. The odor was unmistakable.
Strychnine. She had been poisoned.
He looked at her again, and the muscles in his jaw tight-
ened. Rojas knew that all of this was upsetting her. He knew
that she would begin to have trouble sleeping. The man knew
that sooner or later she would take a sleeping pill to calm her
nerves, to help her sleep. He had probably suggested she get
them. Then he had somehow gotten them from her and had
switched them with the strychnine-laced capsules. Carter
could almost hear the blood singing in his veins, his muscles
bunching up. The son of a bitch... .
There was a commotion out in the corridor. Carter slipped
the capsules into his pocket and dropped to his knees beside
Carmella.
The manager rushed in a moment later. 'What is it?
What is all the trouble up here? There are guests trying to
sleep ..:"
The manager stopped in mid-stride. Carter turned to look
up at the man.
"She is dead. My friend is dead. Her heart."
"Good Lord," the manager breathed. "I'll ring up the
doctor."
"No need for him now," Carter said.
The night seemed to go on for a long time. The docto
came, then the coroner and the police, and finally her body
was taken away.
There was no longer such a great need for secrecy an‹
stealth now that Carmella was dead, so Carter made a coupli
of telephone calls to his people in London, and by morning hi
was free to go.
The cabby just got him out to Heathrow in time for his SS1
flight to Washington, D.C. He had coffee and very goor
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177
sweet rolls in the VIP lounge, and then he was aboard the
high-flying jet, the sky a deep, dark blue at the altitude they
flew.
From the very beginning he had had mixed feelings about
Carmella, but he had not been able to put his finger on just
what it was that had bothered him. Not until this moment.
Carmella had been a woman frightened to death of her own
life. She had somehow known all along that she would end up
this way. It frightened her so badly that she was like a doe
who suddenly found herself on a superhighway at night, the
lights of a truck bearing down on her. She knew she was in
mortal danger, but she was too frightened even to move out of
the way.
He should have seen that. He should have helped her get
away.
Carter only picked at his food during the short flight across
the Atlantic, had only one drink, and rejected the attempts of
the good-looking young woman seated next to him at conver-
sation, despite her repeated efforts.
He had a half hour between flights, and David Hawk
, himself was waiting in the cocktail lounge just down the
corridor from the Air West boarding gate where Carter was to
catch his plane to Las Vegas.
Carter almost walked by the open lounge door, when he
happened to spot Hawk seated at a corner table. He went in,
got himself a large cognac, and sat down with his boss.
'London phoned a couple of hours ago about the girl. Said
you were hit hard, ' Hawk said, his gravelly voice low.
It was fairly early in the morning, Carter suddenly
realized, and yet the bar was open. He looked around. There
was no one else there. The bartender looked familiar. An
AXE employee, probably.
"It's not the Caribbean after all. Rojas is running an
operation in Somalia, " Carter said to Hawk.
178
178
NICK CARTER
"What sort of operation?"
Quickly and succinctly Carter explained what he had come
up with so far, leaving out all but a casual reference to André
Mallier. But Hawk was sharp, and he knew Carter like a
father knows his son.
"You only used this Mallier woman as a smoke screen that
night on the yacht and then later at the casino?"
Carter took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to
clear the pressure in his chest. 'There's more," he said.
"I thought so."
Carter explained André's background, and then her help in
the house south of Monaco.
"Do you think she is in Las Vegas now?"
Carter nodded. "Yes, I do."
"And you're going there now... to kill Rojas?"
Carter looked up, directly into his boss's eyes. David
Hawk had the reputation of being an exceedingly tough old
man. It was said his heart was made of granite, and only ice
water flowed in his veins. Carter knew better. At that mo-
ment there was compassion in Hawk's eyes.
"Yes, sir, " Carter said. "Afterward I'll go to Somalia."
"Do you want help?"
"I don't believe that would be wise, sir. If we go in there in
force, officially, the Russians will get involved in a big way.
It would be a mess."
Hawk thought for a long moment. 'I agree," he said
"But one word of advice, Nick."
"Sir?"
"It wasn't your fault about the Perez woman, so don't take
on the responsibility for André Mallier. You have a job to do
an important one. Don't forget that."
"I won't, sir. It will be my first priority. "
Hawk's eyebrows rose, and he started to protest, but thei
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he just shook his head and smiled. "Good luck, Nick. If you
need help, we'll be there."
Hawk got up and left the lounge. A minute later Carter
finished his drink and headed over to the Air West boarding
gate. The bartender came around the bar, closed the gates,
and left the back way.
McCarran International Airport was busy, thousands of
people coming and going, the public address system paging
passengers, and all the while the ever present slot machines
created a cacophony unlike anyplace else in the world.
From the Air West boarding area, Carter had managed to
contact the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. He asked them to
transfer his funds to Caesars Palace in Las Vegas and to
reserve a suite for him there.
They had, and they had evidently sent along Carter's
description too, because just outside the main doors of the
airport, a uniformed chauffeur approached him.
"Mr. Carter?"
Carter turned to the man and nodded.
'Yes, sir, " the man said, taking Carter's bags,
"The hotel
in Monte Carlo called and said to pick you up, sir."
Carter grinned. "Sure thing, " he said. High rollers the
world over were treated well.
He climbed into the back seat of a Rolls-Royce, and within
a minute they were speeding into town.
'You're the talk of the town, Mr. Carter, " the chauffeur
said.
"That a fact?"
'Yes, sir. Or at least you are in certain circles, if you know
what I mean."
'No, I don't. What do you mean?" Carter asked.
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, guessing
180
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NICK CARTER
that he might have gone too far. "I didn't mean no disrespect,
Mr. Carter. Honest."
Carter laughed. "No sweat." He lit a cigarette. 'I sup-
pose everyone in town has heard about my little streak in
Monte Carlo. "
The driver whistled. "Little streak! Are you kiddin'? From
what we hear, you didn't do so bad in Baden-Baden or
London neither. "
Again Carter laughed. "It's a living."
"I guess."
For a few minutes Carter fell silent, staring out at the
desert, at the ramshackle houses and businesses on the out-
skirts of the town. He used to come here a lot a few years
back. But it had been a while.
"Where's the action this week? Anything big?"
"We had a splash last night at Caesars. A little action
upstairs. The Tropicana has the national poker thing goin'
again. Slim and Amarillo and some of the other dudes are in
town."
'You heard of a roller named Rojas? Juan Rojas?"
"Oh, sure. He breezed in a couple of days ago with his
army. He's been makin' a buck or two around town. I think
he's settin' himself up for a big win. Everyone thinks so."
Vegas may have heard about his wins in Europe, Carter
thought, but it evidently hadn't heard that the big challenge
had been between himself and Rojas.
"Where's he staying, at Caesars? M-G-M?'
"Nah. He's shacked up out in the desert with this good-
lookin' French dish . . . André somethin' or other. "
Something clutched at Carter's gut. He had a clear image
of how Carmella looked lying dead in the London hotel
room. He did not want a repeat with André.
"Does he come to the Strip?"
"Sure, every night. How do you think he gambles?"
DEATY TANN DTAV
181
"Where's he staying?" Carter asked again.
The driver looked at Carter in the mirror. "Are you after
him or somethin'?"
'Who do you suppose I won all my money from in London
and Baden-Baden and Monte Carlo?"
For a moment the driver said nothing, but then his face lit
up. "Well, I'll be damned! From Rojas? No kiddin'?"
"No kiddin'. Now, where's he staying?"
"Oh, man, this is goin' to be great! It's a few miles outta
town on the Tonopah Highway. Called Don Chavez's Place.
Some Italian tycoon owns it. Comes over once in a while."
"Where does Rojas usually look for his action?"
"'He's been comin' to Caesars mostly. That's how come I
know so much about him. Usually comes in around mid-
night."
"With the woman?"
'The French gal? You bet. She's a real looker.
"I can hardly wait to meet her," Carter said, and he sat
back.
Carter's suite was on the top floor of Caesars Palace. For
nearly a half hour the staff of the hotel fussed over him,
making sure his bar was stocked, making sure his bags were
unpacked and his clothes cleaned and pressed, making sure
he understood that he had an unlimited line of credit any-
where in Vegas—but especially at Caesars-and making
sure that there would be no trouble. Management had heard
of his feud with Rojas.
"A delicate matter, Mr. Carter. but one which I'm sure
you can appreciate, " the manager said just before he left.
Carter waited for him to continue.
'Mr. Rojas travels with his . . . companions. None of
them are.. armed as long as they are in our hotel. We
would hope that you conduct yourself appropriately."
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NICK CARTER
Carter smiled. "Of course."
'Then I shall leave you. We hope you enjoy your stay."
"I will. Believe me, I will."
'"Yes, sir."
"Oh, by the way, before you go—I'll need to rent a car.
Something large. Perhaps the Rolls that I was picked up in?"
"Of course. Will you need a driver?"
'Yes. In fact, I'd like the car out back right now. The
driver, the one who picked me up at the airport—what's his
name?"
"Ernie."
"Ernie can just stand by. I'll call him when I need him."
"Very good, sir."
After the manager left, Carter unsnapped his cassette re-
corder and removed his weapons. He donned his gas bomb,
but he just slipped the stiletto and Luger in his jacket pocket.
He was downstairs, by the back way, just as Ernie was
parking the Rolls. The chauffeur got out, then spotted Carter.
"Do you want to go someplace now, sir?"
"Not right now, Ernie. A little later tonight."
"I'll be ready anytime you are, sir."
"Good, " Carter said. He turned and went back into the
hotel, but then he stopped. He watched the driver putter
around the car for a couple of minutes then go across the
driveway and enter another part of the hotel complex.
Carter walked back outside, went over to the Rolls, and
climbed into the back seat. Making sure no one was watch-
ing, he quickly stashed Wilhelmina and Hugo beneath the
front seats.
Tonight, he thought, getting out of the car and going back
into the hotel. Tonight he and Rojas would come face to face,
and it would be for the last time.
He had a light lunch in the hotel's coffee shop, then played
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183
a few hands of blackjack at one of the tables, coming out a
hundred dollars ahead.
Back up in his suite, he made sure the door was locked,
then he peeled off his clothes, took a very long shower, had
one quick brandy, and crawled into bed. It had been a day and
a half since he had gotten any sleep. He was going to have to
be well rested for tonight's action.
He fell asleep almost immediately, and he dreamed of
Carmella and André. They were both in trouble. They were
running down a long dark alley, pursued by a ten-foot-tall
Rojas with long fangs and claws.
Carter was there, but he could never seem to get his legs
going. He wanted to help, but he simply could not move, and
he cried out in frustration as Carmella went down, blood
everywhere.
It was dark when he awoke, bathed in sweat, his heart
pounding. He looked at his watch. It was a little before ten.
Carter got out of bed, flipped on the room lights, and called
down to room service. He ordered a large steak, rare, a small
salad with oil and vinegar, and a bottle of Bordeaux.
While he waited for his dinner to come, he took another
shower, shaved, and got dressed in his evening clothes. He
felt naked, however, without Wilhelmina and Hugo.
He put on some music when he had finished dressing, and
minutes later his meal came. He tipped well, then sat down
and ate slowly, finishing the bottle of wine. Afterward he lit a
cigarette and poured a large cognac.
He went to the window and looked down at the Strip,
which never failed to impress him. There was no other place
in the world like it. Monte Carlo, Baden-Baden, Deauville,
and the other European gambling places, with their Old
World elegance, were as quiet as tombs compared to Las
Vegas.
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NICK CARTER
For a few minutes, standing there, he could forget why he
had come to Vegas. He could simply relax and enjoy the
moment. But then he thought about his dream, which was
still vivid in his mind and which brought him back to Car-
mella lying dead in a London hotel room, and finally to
André, somewhere in the Nevada desert with Rojas.
Finishing his cognac, Carter stubbed out his cigarette,
made sure he looked all right in the mirror, and left his room.
Without weapons, Rojas's goons would be relatively inef-
fective in the Caesars casino. Once outside, however, it
would be a different story unless Carter had the advantage.
It was just approaching midnight as Carter wandered
across the casino and walked to the baccarat table just across
from the main bar.
Already four men in tuxedoes had gathered at the table,
one of them Juan Rojas. On the far side of the railing were
three of his bodyguards. Seated next to Rojas was André.
There were several other people standing around, so Carter
was able to slip inside the rail without being noticed. He came
around the table and stood directly across from Rojas.
André noticed him first. Her eyes went wide, and she made
a little cry. Rojas turned to see what had caused her reaction.
Carter was satisfied to see that for a long moment—it almost
seemed like hours-the man was vexed. He knew Carter had
shown up in Vegas. He had to have known it. But seeing him
here now, like this, was a blow to his ego.
All hell would break loose very soon, Carter decided. Very
soon indeed.
FIFTEEN
"Senhor Rojas, Mademoiselle Mallier," Carter said
pleasantly. He sat down, took out his cigarettes, and lit one.
The cocktail waitress came and Carter ordered a glass of
champagne.
André had averted her eyes, but Rojas was staring at him.
The South American's bodyguards were straining at their
leashes on the other side of the barrier. Carter found that he
was almost hoping they'd make a try for him. Obviously
Rojas had good control over his men.
"It's curious to see you here so soon," Carter said.
If other people at the table noticed that something was
going on between Carter and Rojas, they did not show it. The
cards had not yet arrived, but the game would soon begin.
"Curious in what respect, Mr. Carter?" Rojas asked,
finding his voice.
"I meant so soon after Senhorita Perez's death. "
André sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.
'I am sorry, Mademoiselle Mallier, ' Carter said. "I was
certain Senhor Rojas had informed you. Poor Carmella-the
French police are still looking for her murderer. She was
poisoned, you know. Strychnine in her sleeping capsules.
Ingenious, actually. Just as her rescue of me was ingenious."
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186
NICK CARTER
The two men seated at the far end of the long table, who
both looked like Texas oil barons in their Western-cul
tuxedoes, looked first at Carter, then at Rojas.
Carter glanced over his shoulder at Rojas's three body-
guards. One of them he recognized from the yacht. "And
you, " Carter said to him. 'Before this is all over I'm going to
break both your arms and legs. And that's for starters. " He
• turned back
The house man came with the shoe and the cards. Cartel
stood up, stubbing out his cigarette. His drink had just come
and he drained the glass.
"Sir?" the house man asked uncertainly.
"I won't play at this table with that man, " Carter said in :
loud voice. He pointed at Rojas.
The others around the table looked up at Carter.
"Sir?" the house man asked again.
"His name is Juan Rojas. He is a cheat, a liar, a thief, and :
murderer. Ask him about the baccarat table in Monte Carlo
And ask him about a woman named Carmella Perez, unti
recently his mistress, whom he poisoned."
There was chaos. Two of the men at the table jumped up
Rojas's bodyguards tried to come over the barriers, but th
house security people had materialized as if from thin air an
restrained them.
Rojas remained where he was seated, a very thin smile o
his bloodless lips. "You have gone too far, senhor, ' he sail
softly.
Carter laughed out loud. "As I said once before, Rojas
you're a fool!"
Carter turned on his heel, stepped through the gate in th
barrier, and strode across the casino to the desk.
"I'm Carter. I want my driver. Now!" he snapped.
"Yes, sir, " the flustered clerk said.
Carter turned and went back through the casino to the bac
187
door. There was still a lot of commotion around the baccarat
table.
He stepped outside. It was very dark. One of the overhead
lights had gone out. The Rolls was parked just across the
driveway. Carter hurried across to it, opened the back door,
and slid inside.
Ernie was there. "Mr. Carter, " he said.
"We're going to have company in just a second or two, so
let's get the hell out of here, " Carter said, reaching for his
weapons. But they were not there.
"Looking for something?" the chauffeur asked.
Carter straightened up to look into the muzzle of his own
Luger. "I see," he said.
"Sorry, but the other bozo has got more money than you.
And certainly a lot more muscle."
"May I light a cigarette?" Carter asked.
"I don't care.
Carter lit a cigarette as Rojas, André, and three body-
guards came out the back door and headed straight for the
Rolls.
The bodyguard from the Princesse Xanadu yanked open
the rear door and looked in at Carter.
"You shouldn't take things so personally, " Carter said.
The bodyguard reached for him, but Carter slid away.
Rojas shoved the man aside and got in the back with
Carter. André was beside him at the window. One of the
bodyguards opened the other door and slid onto the back seat,
shoving Carter over, the two other goons piled into the front.
Ernie started the car, and they pulled away from the hotel.
"You talked bravely in there, Mr. Carter, " Rojas said
with an edge to his voice. "I wonder how brave you will be
one hour from now?"
"Are you going to pull out my fingernails?"
Rojas chuckled. "Actually, I have something far more
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civilized in mind, though no less painful."
"What do you want, besides my money?"
"I want to know who you work for."
"The CIA, I've already told you."
"As much as I would like to believe that, I do not. And
yet..."Rojas let it trail off.
They were driving on the Strip now, heading north west out
of the city.
"Why did you kill Carmella?" Carter asked.
Rojas said nothing.
"You bastard," Carter snarled. Then he switched to Por-
tuguese and let fly with a string of the worst obscenities he
could think of, most of them involving Rojas's mother.
Rojas lunged at him, and Carter just managed to swing a
left hook that connected solidly with the man's jaw. Rojas's
head snapped back at the same moment the bodyguard beside
Carter grabbed his shoulder.
Carter rolled left this time, swinging his weight behind a
right hook that slammed into the side of the big man's face.
He slammed his fist into the man's face again, then a third
time, before he felt the cold metal of a very large gun barrel
pressed against his head.
"Another move and your brains will decorate the rear
window," one of the bodyguards from the front seat said.
Carter forced himself to relax his muscles, to slow down,
to settle back.
Ernie had slowed the car and was about to pull over to the
side of the road, but Rojas ordered him to go on.
"Not here, imbecil!" he shouted. 'Wait until we are out
of the city. At least that far."
"Where I will kill you," Carter said softly.
Rojas shoved the gun barrel aside and slapped Carter hard
in the face. "Kill me? Are you crazy?" The Brazilian was
nearly berserk with rage.
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"We know about Somalia; we know all about it. Your
little base is_"
Rojas slapped him again. 'You don't know anything!"
"We know about the mercenaries: the Americans, the
French, the Germans, even the British. Who do you think
killed your British mercenary at the Château Le Favre outside
Barnet?"
Rojas was shaking. Spittle drooled from the corners of his
mouth. His bodyguards in the front seat looked uncertain
•now.
"The base," Carter said, 'is about five miles inland
between Ankhor and Berbera. Your people even have SS-
fives."
"What are you talking about?" Rojas screamed.
"Once your people are finished in Mogadishu, you think
you'll be able to control the oil traffic through the Gulf of
Aden. But it won't work, Rojas. "
Ernie had turned off on Lake Mead Boulevard, north of the
city, and he swerved the car off the road to the right, laying on
the brakes, the big car slewing first right and then left.
In an instant, Ernie was out of the car and racing off into
the night.
The gorilla next to Carter had pulled out his pistol, but
Carter snatched it out of his hand and fired two shots into the
front seat, both bodyguards pitching forward.
André opened the door on her side and jumped out as the
remaining bodyguard grabbed Carter's left arm and slammed
it forward over the back of the front seats, causing him to
drop the gun.
Rojas leaped out of the seat after André as Carter slammed
his fist into the side of the bodyguard who was twisting his
arm farther and farther over the front seat.
The pain suddenly became unbearable, and the bones of
Carter's arm snapped with a loud pop.
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NICK CARTER
The man let go at that moment, figuring the fight was over,
but it was a fatal mistake. Carter, working on pure instinct,
swiveled around, reached up with his right arm, and grabbed
the goon's windpipe in his powerful grip. Steeling himself,
Carter reared back, pulling with every ounce of his strength,
and ripped the man's throat open, blood spurting every-
where.
The bodyguard lashed out, his entire body jerking in
macabre spasms as he fought a losing battle for his life.
Carter held him off for a minute or so until finally the
man's struggles weakened and then ended as he slumped
over, dead.
In great pain now, Carter reached into the front seat and
grabbed the gun from where it had fallen between the two
dead bodyguards, then slid across the seat and climbed out of
the car.
He took a half-dozen steps away from the car before he
spotted Rojas and André.
"That's far enough!" Rojas shouted. He had André by her
hair, her head pulled back, the point of a stiletto at her neck
... Carter's stiletto.
'Let her go, Rojas! This fight is between you and me,"
Carter shouted, stepping a little closer. He was about twenty
feet away.
"Come any closer and I will kill her, " Rojas shouted.
Carter raised the big .357 magnum. "You kill her and you
are a dead man. Automatic, Rojas. But I'll make a deal with
you. Give you a chance."
"What kind of a deal?" Rojas shouted after a moment.
"I'll throw down my gun. You keep the knife, but let
André go. It'll be a fight between you and me."
Rojas said nothing. Carter knew the man was weighing his
chances.
191
"I'Il have no weapons. My left arm is broken. You'll have
a knife."
Still Rojas maintained his silence.
Carter taunted him again in Portuguese, then threw the
magnum far out into the night. He held out his right hand, his
left arm hanging useless at his side. "Well?" he called.
Rojas stood silently for a long time. Finally, however, he
shoved André aside, sending her to her knees, and he raced
forward.
It was a fool's lunge. Carter stepped aside and easily
tripped the South American, sending him sprawling on his
face in the dust.
Carter came at him, but before he connected, Rojas had
rolled over and had sprung up in a crouch, swinging wildly
with the stiletto, the point of the blade opening a large gash in
Carter's side.
Carter feinted left, Rojas lunged that way, and Carter
pulled back, bringing his knee up and catching Rojas in the
crotch.
Rojas doubled over as he scrambled backward, dropping
the stiletto on the ground.
Carter lunged for the knife, but even in pain Rojas had
enough presence of mind to kick out, his formal pump catch-
ing Carter squarely in the left arm below the elbow. The pain
was so excruciating that the desert sky lit up like the Fourth of
July, and Carter's head spun as he reeled back.
It seemed like hours, but it was only seconds, before Carter
could see anything, much less regain his balance. Rojas lay
curled up in a fetal position. He was groaning and rolling
around, clutching his crotch.
Carter limped forward and picked up his stiletto. Rojas
was finished. There would be no fight left in him now. Carter
didn't think the rest of his bodyguards would want to con-
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NICK CARTER
tinue the fight with their leader down.
He had told Hawk he was coming to Las Vegas to kill
Rojas. But now that the opportunity presented itself, he knew
it wasn't worth it. The man was the scum of the earth, but he
was beaten.
All that was left was Somalia. Someone else would have to
do that now. But it would be relatively easy, he supposed.
With Rojas out of the way, he did not think the mercenaries
would have much interest in the fight.
Rojas sat up at last and shook his head. He looked up at
Carter.
"You bastard," he said with much feeling.
"Yeah," Carter said. He started to turn to see how André
was, when she raced up out of the darkness. She had the .357
that Carter had thrown away held in both hands straight in
front of her.
"No!" Carter shouted.
Rojas raised his right hand as if to ward off a blow. André
fired, the first shot catching him in the chest just above the
breastbone.
His body was slammed backward, and her next shot went
over his head into the sand. But then she was standing over
his still twitching body, firing into it, the first point-blank
shot taking off his face and most of the back of his head, the
second destroying his neck. The next time she pulled the
trigger, the hammer snapped on an empty cylinder. She kept
on pulling the trigger, the hammer snapping, until she finally
threw the heavy pistol at Rojas's body. It landed on what was
left of his chest.
'André, " Carter said.
She came to him slowly, and he encircled her with his good
arm while she sobbed. In the distance Carter could heal
sirens. Someone had reported the shooting.
Somalia, after all, wasn't really important. It had been
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193
Rojas. Whether his interests had been in the Caribbean or in
Africa, it would not have mattered. It was he who was evil.
And now he was dead.
It was time, Carter thought, to take a vacation. A very long
vacation.