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"Your anger is showing," Carter said. smiling into her
indignant beauty. "Careful. You 'II be mistaken for human. "
"Ha!" she said, compressing her lips. "We've work to
do. "
"Glad you reminded me. Might have forgotten. "
"Don't humor me, Carter. ICs a waste of effort. 9'
He grinned and shook his head. She was alternately desir-
able and hopelessly imtating, and even when she was imtat-
ing, she was desirable. When she unveiled her cold eyes long
enough for him to see, he knew she was as attracted to him as
he was to her. And EErhaps even more puzzled by him.
Carter and Annette went back to work.
They gazed nonchalantly around the room. the two re-
maining unidentified men in Heinrich •s photograph burned
in their memories: the Slavic-looking one with David Sut-
ton 's arm thrown casually over his shoulder, and the man in
the tuxedo.
The warehouse-size room was a single, large hall with the
center filled with long tables seating up to sixteen each, and
small round and square ones along the perimeter of the room.
The decorations were old. Pre-World War II paintings of the
Bavarian countryside, crossed Prussian swords with dan-
gling faded red tassels, stuffed deer and wild boar heads with
the glazed eyes of death's defeat, and ornate gold filigreed
milTors that reflected across the half-full room. A film ofdust
and grease seemed to cover everything. Ihe decorations gave
the hall a sense of musty oldness, as if the past were a walking
corpse.
To their right was a raised stage on which the polka band in
short pants and embroidered shirts played their lively tunes.
Below them, another band stood on break, drinking beer
from steins and talking in each other's ears. Couples,
families, and friends sat in clumps at tables throughout the
warm hall, laughing, drinking toasts, tapping their feet.








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"I don't see either of them," she said at last.
"Not yet. "
99
He picked up the ashtray, noting the raised wings of the
hawk. She nodded. They were in the right place. They lit
cigarettes, smoked. talked infrequently, bored as if they had
been together so long that animated conversation between
them had died a natural death.
The polka band ended its set and people looked up exrm--
tantly for the next entertainment. A knife thrower bounded
out onto the stage, brandishing long knives that caught the
overhead lights and glinted menacingly. The audience loved
him, clapping enthusiastically, and he threw each knife with
solemnity at a half-naked girl, flourishing the weapons so
that the pleased audience would be certain that only his
superb skill kept the trembling girl from instant death. He
ended his show to thunderous applause, and the emcee
beamed and clapped too.
In between musical breaks by the combo on the floor, the
announcer brought on a memory expert in all the great Ger-
manic wars, then a group of four young girls in frilly white
aprons who yodeled, and last a man who played the
xylophone with his hands while one foot beat a floor drum.
The audience booed the xylophone player. One red-faced
man yelled that the music sounded as if it were made by a
broken washing machine. Immediately the emcee's hook
shot out from the side of the stage and dragged the embarras-
sed amateur off. The audience loved that, and clapped and
stamped its feet. Being judge and jury pleased them, espe-
cially if their decision was instantly and painlessly camed
out. People liked to keep their own hands clean.
"Three hours," Annette observed impatiently. "Not a
sign of either of them. "
Across the room, the bouncer still occasionally studied
Annette, and she would glare back at him. Being on watch









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was boring, but at least they were inside, warm, where there
was beer and something to do besides count the seconds in a
minute.
People came and went. Sweating waitresses balanced full
mugs of beer to the tables and camed off empty ones by the
trayful. The musicians played. The entertainers did their acts
with varying degrees of success. Men flirted with women.
Women hid their interest behind fluttering, work-worn hands
and shy glances.
And Carter and Annette watched.
Another hour passed, then two.
Near midnight, a new act ran out onto the stage. It was a
magician, carrying a black-draped table, wearing a tuxedo
shiny with age.
Carter and Annette continued to smoke quietly. Nothing
about them gave away their excitement.
The magician was the man in the tuxedo in Heinrich 's
photograph.
But now, besides the tuxedo, he wore a large red sm)t
painted festively on each cheek as if he were a cabaret
entertainer from long ago. He had a long, boneless face, and
was tall and rangy. And now that Caner saw him in Irrson,
saw the way he moved, heard the timber of his voice, he
realized he'd met the man before.
In Budapest, the man dressed in an expensive business suit
had tried to hire Carter's taxi to take him to a fashionable
address—14 Jözsethegyi Street on Rose Hill—while Caner
was in disguise tailing the double agent J6zsef Pau. The man
had spoken Hungarian like a native. Now he spoke working-
class German as if he were to the factory born.
Caner edged behind Annette. If he recognized the magi-
cian, the magician might recognize him.
"What 's wrong?" she whispered, glancing at Carter, then
she followed his gaze back to the stage where the magician
busily waved a wand over his upturned top hat.




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Carter explained quickly, and a triumphant smile of con-
firmation spread across her beautiful. cold face.
' 'You stay here, 's he told her before she could object.
He stood, tumed. and walked around the perimeter of the
room, his head ducked in defeat, his hands dug deep into his
pockets. his feet shuffling as if life were drudgery. and work
a punishment for living. People, made uncomfortable by the
emotions his presence raised, averted their eyes when he
passed. It was a good disguise. No one wanted him near, and
they'd forget him as soon as possible.
He walked to a door marked rest rooms, glancing over his
shoulder once to see Annette alone at their table, smoking
furiously.
The door opened into a corridor, just as he'd suspected.
Two of the dcx»rs along the hall were marked for rest rooms,
another was labeled Office, a third that swung busily back
and forth was obviously a kitchen. Costumed singers, come-
dians, and musicians prowled the comdor, smoking, drink-
ing, chattenng to keep away their stage nerves.
Carter paced the length of the hall, his hands behind his
back. He found the men 's dressing room at the end of the
corridor, down another flight of stairs. It would be a dank
hole down there.
Carter paused at the top of the stairs, lit a cigarette, and
listened to the shouts of laughter and applause that accom-
panied another of the magician 's tricks.
Across from the stairs was a small square of royal purple
curtain. He drew back the musty velvet cloth. Through a
darkened pane of glass he saw the stage and audience. From
here, the next act could gauge the reception awaiting them.
The magician was finishing his act, bowing to endless
applause, while across the crowded room Annette's eye-
brows were raised in scorching dismissal of the persistent
bouncer who hovered over her like a dog salivating over a
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in over his musclebound head.
Next to the window was the stage door through which the
magician would exit. Carter backed off, now certain that
there were only three exits. The first exit was the front
where Carter and Annette had entered the bar. The second
was the side that backed next to the top of the stairs
down to the men 's dressing room; it would be the stage door.
And the third would through the back of the kitchen.
It was simple to deduce that the magician would probably
go out the stage door, but as a second choice he might exit
through the kitchen where he could avoid the clamoring
throng from the hall.
Carter ground out his cigarette on the wood floor already
scarred by thousands of other cigarette burns made by wait-
ing performers, and assumed his hunched walk to return to
the table.
The audience was already back to their beers, eager for the
next act. Ahead, Annette was staring coldly into empty
space, a hand crushing a pack of cigarettes.
The bouncer passed Carter on his way back to the front
door. Startled, he recognized Caner. gave him a guilty
of pity, and hurried to the safety of guarding the front door.
a man knew his friends, and the women, although not
stunning, at least were grateful for a real man 's attention.
' 'You 've charmed another admirer, ' ' Carter said. smiling
as he sat next to her. She was remarkable, admirable, and a
constant challenge.
' 'Moronic ox, " she muttered grumpily and drank her beer.
"Are we set9"
He told her the location of the doors. They stood, leaving
money on the table. She rested her head on his shoulder, a
little drunk, and he supported her to the front door. The
bouncer turned his back, disgusted, but at least now he had an
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leaned over earnestly in conversation with the man who wore
the soft felt hat.
Outside, the street was almost deserted. A new policeman
was on duty in the lamplight a block away. The air was sharp
with the fresh bite of spring. The stars twinkled overhead as if
preserved forever under clear glass.
Standing on the sidewalk just atxwe the Wemer Hall 's
front entrance , Carter and Annette took in their surroundings ,
noting the paths of the few pedestrians and the slow-moving
cars, then split up.
He watched her for a moment, seeing her walk confidently
down an alley on one side of the building. She had a hand in
her coat pocket, and in the pocket was her Walther.
Satisfied, he strode off in the opposite direction, around
the tall brick building. The floors above held apartments,
often a family of four to a room, one bathroom to a floor, and
a coal-burning stove to cook on. Despite guaranteed-for-life
jobs and the govemment 's statistical evidence of improving
conditions, East Berliners still found the symbolism of the
Berlin Wall embarrassing. It was an admission that despite
the state's assurances, something was basically wrong with
the society. Parents had difficulty explaining the
discrepancies—particularly the Berlin Wall—to the new
generations. For those born to any preordained order, free
will was still a characteristic that had to be trained out of
people.
The scream was short, hollow. Almost as if it hadn't
existed at all.
Carter raced down the alley, his Luger tight in his hand,
and rounded the corner.
Annette slammed an elbow deep into the belly of one of her
two attackers. He collapsed to his knees, his face blue.
The second man threw a rope around Annette, then yanked
her tight into its loop





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She kicked high, her boot reflecting light from the single
bulb that glowed above the kitchen entrance she had
watching.
The man with the rope dodged, laughing.
"A tigress! What a waste!"
The other man staggered to his feet.
"Get her money, idiot! Someone will hear! "
"Good thinking," Carter said. "But too late. "
He pointed Wilhelmina at the East Berliner holding the
rope, Both robbers glared temfied at Carter, ignoring for the
moment their prey. Annette was just better dressed enough
than most East Berliners to give a man with a state-mandated
job of no pay increases the hope of a little extra money.
poor in all nations had dreams. In East Germany, a two-
cylinder Trabant car was priced astronomically at $ in
American money , and a color television cost between S I
and $2,000.
"Polizei!" one said hoarsely.
"Not yet, " Annette said. "But I'll scream and the one on
the corner will be here in ten seconds. s'
"What .
what do you want?" the man with the rol*
said, dropping the rope's end as if it were scorching his
hands.
"Well, better ethics would be too much to ask," Carter
said. "So I suggest you just leave. Give it up for the night. "
"You 'II .
. you'll let us go?" said the robber Annette
had kicked.
"If you leave now," Annette said, stepping out of the
rope. "Immediately. "
The two robbers looked at one another, then at Caner and
Annette.
"No tricks?" the one with the rope said. "I have a wife, a
boy .
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The men exchanged a look of awe at their good fortune.
Amateurs, they had not yet developed the professional's
thrill of the job itself. They wanted the money and felt only its
loss. not the loss of the challenge.
They raced down the alley, their cheap, dark clothes dis-
appearing into the night.
"Thieves," Annette said, disgusted. "Of all the bad
luck. "
Caner nodded curtly, tossed the rope into a trash con-
tainer, and slid his Luger back into his pocket.
"Better get back, " he said, already retracing his steps to
his post.
Annette nodded , then blended deep into the shadows made
by stacks of empty wooden crates waiting outside the
kitchen.
'II be here," she said softly. ' 'Waiting. "
He didn 't bother to nod, too intent on the door that had
gone unwatched for perhaps ten minutes. Long enough for
the magician to hurry out of costume, clean his face, dress
again, and long gone from Werner Hall.
Carter's only hope was that the magician had no reason to
be in a hurry.
He rounded the corner.
They were waiting for him.
In midstep, the six men pushed him up against the wall.
He grabbed for his Luger.
Two iron hands crushed his arms, lifted him. His feet
dangled helplessly a foot above the ground.
"Nice work, Killmaster, " said the Werner Hall magician
who was also the tall, rangy man with the long, boneless face
from Budapest. He'd cleaned off the theatrical paint.
There were five others. One of them was the bouncer. He
leered in Carter's face as he held Carter's arms immobile
against the brick wall. He had the strength ofa bull elephant.
' 'Perhaps we should hire you to clean up our streets, " the



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magician went on. "You could reform the criminals at the
same time. s' He took a small object from his sleeve and held
it high under the alley's light. It was a syringe.
'Delighted, " Carter said. s 'A wonderful opportunity. We
could team up. But you 'd have to improve the level of your
friends. Muscles on the arms are useful, but between the ears
they're subnormal. "
The bouncer growled deep in his throat, His broad, flat
face turned deep red.
"There 's for all, the magician said soothingly. He
pressed the plunger, popping out air bubbles.
' 'Not for me, " Carter said and twisted, kicking against the
hands that held him like steel bands. It was an impossible
position to kick from.
The magician chuckled.
"Deiter, if you please. '
The bouncer gave a cruel smile and released one of Car-
ter's arms to the two hands of one of his comrades. With his
free hand, the bouncer grabbed Carter's leg, twisting the
thigh.
"Annette!" Carter shouted. "Run!"
"Too late. " The magician smiled again. He injected the
drug into Carter's leg. "We have her.
He watched Carter's face. A wave of nausea swept over
the AXE agent. The magician's face blurred. Carter felt
himself falling, falling, although he knew he couldn 't 1k. He
tried to swim back up to consciousness. The magician spoke
again , this time as if from a distance too great to contemplate.
"And now we have you," the magician said. "It's too
late, Killmaster. Very much too late. "






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The stank of mold and mildew. Somewhere far off,
water dripped slowly. The room itself had the impenetrable
silence that came from thick stone, and a deserted feeling that
sent chills up Nick Carter's spine.
He didn 't know where this place was. All his weapons
were gone. He was weak from the drug the magician had
injected. His head throbbed painfully. And he didn 't like the
looks of this stone cell.
It made him think of the fabled, persistent Count of Monte
Cristo, this dungeon hole. But even the Count of Monte
Cristo would be discouraged by the solid stone coffin Caner
and the Israeli agent Annette Burden had been thrown in.
Could they escape? Or would they simply be hauled out and
killed?
Carter lay on a pile of straw on the floor, holding Annette.
She was still unconscious, a curly-haired blonde with a
beautiful face, a long, femininely rounded body, and a first-
rate mind. Asleep, she was a rosy-cheeked angel. But when
he allowed himself a smile as he con-
she awakened
templated her disposition then.
He lifted her shoulder, lay her ann across her chest, and
slid away. She moaned and shook her head. Her lashes made
long shadows on her cheeks from the light of the kerosene
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lantern sitting on the tall wooden boxes behind them.
He checked his twenty-four-hour watch. It was noon.
They had been unconscious twelve hours. In the under-
ground, windowless cell, it was impossible to tell the hour
without a watch.
He moved around the room, feeling the solid limestone
walls. The cell was about ten feet by ten feet. A few pnsoners
had left thick marks on the walls. Without knives, they 'd had
to improvise with other instruments, perhaps spoons. The
marks showed attempts at initials, hearts, other drawings,
even a skull and crossbones. None had had the stamina—or
the time—to leave a message.
Just as he'd judged from his on the straw, the walls
were dishearteningly solid. And the heavy, double-thick,
barless, windowless door was built of iron. Encrusted with
rust, the door had been there a long time, and from the of
it had never been broken through.
He stopped, resting his forehead against the wall where
he'd begun. He felt dizzy and weak. His head throbbed as if
he'd been on a two-week drunk. The cold limestone re-
freshed his painful flesh. He waited until the throbbing les-
seneds then he started on the ceiling.
It was too high to reach, but he walked along the floor, his
head angled back, searching for a crack, a fissure, a darkened
line on the limestone to indicate someone long ago had found
a way to escape. Again, the ceiling appeared solid. What he
was hoping for wasn't likely, but it was possible.
He squatted on the floor and dropped his head down
between his knees. His ears rang, and a sharp pain pulsated
behind his eyes. He forced himself to breathe slowly and
deeply until at last the pain from the drug again lessened.
Now he checked the floor. He crawled on his hands and
knees, feeling every grimy inch. Slime grew on some of the




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stones, probably from an underground spring, maybe related
to the distant dripping water whose irritating regularity he
refused to annoyed by.
Again he found nothing. He 'd known he wouldn •t, but still
he 'd had to try. A Killma.ster didn 't give up. Ever.
He sat on his haunches, breathing slowly and evenly,
waiting for his head to calm.
At last he stood again and walked to the tall wooden boxes
from which the kerosene lantern cast a yellow glow in the
dark rcx)m. He smiled. Of course. These were two of the
crates that had Feen piled outside the kitchen of the Werner
Hall where the two thieves had tried to rob Annette.
And the magician and his friends must have used the boxes
to crate Caner and Annette for transportation to his dungeon
hole, wherever that was.
"Nick?" Annette 's voice was raspy, as if it hadn't been
uscd in a long time.
"Don 't sit up, " he cautioned, returning to the straw.
"Where the hell . .
She gasped and fell back, her hands gripping her head.
' 'In hell, yes, for all I can tell, " he said mildly, then sat
beside her on the straw.
"Does it go away?"
s 'The cell, no. Eventually the headache gets better. "
C' You're not funny."
' 'Good. It's not a joke. "
Flat on her back, still holding her head, she looked at him.
Her blue eyes were bloodshot. Her blond curls were wild
with tousling. Sticks of straw stuck out from the tangle of
hair. She looked like a sixteen-year-old who had had second
thoughts about sacrificing her virginity in the hayloft.
' 'The least you could've done was not get caught," she
griped. "Some Killmaster. "




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"It's all part of the plan."
She struggled to a sitting position again. squinting her eyes
with the pain.
' 'What plan?" she asked suspiciously.
6 'A Killmasteralways has a plan. s' He smiled as he picked
straw from her spun-gold hair. "Didn 't you know that?"
"l don 't believe you," she decided.
He chuckled, stood up slowly, and walked back to the
crates.
feel much better already, " he told her. "You will soon,
too. "
He moved his hands over one crate.
"You 've checked the cell?" She was making conversa-
tion, hiding her fears behind talk. Activity decreased anxiety.
"Everything. Solid as a rock. But then, it is a rock. Or
carved out of one, at any rate. '
She watched him, her arms crossed over her knees.
' 'We 'II jump them when they come back, " she told him.
"How do you know they 're coming back? " he said, find-
ing a loose board at last. He ripped it off, nails squealing.
s They didn't keep us alive for nothing," she reasoned.
"We don't have any weapons," he said. "Makes it a bit
one-sided , doesn 't it? ' ' He tore off another piece of the crate.
"What about those boards?" she said, pointing to the two
he had pulled off and leaned against the wall. 'They're
sturdy. We can distract whoever comes, then knock them
out. "
"Why didn't I think of that?"
He stood back and grinned at her.
"Monster! Bastard! SOB! That's why you pulled them
off!"
S' You're charming when you're angry. "
Enraged, she leaped to her feet. Screamed. Clutched her
head. Sank against the limestone wall.




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Carter grabbed her by the shoulders and picked her up.
"I told you," he said softly. "Wait. Your head will clear.
If you move too rapidly, you 'II black out. 9'
"But .
' 'Hush. '
He pressed her to him. She was shivering. A cold sweat
glistened on her waxy face.
He lay her on the straw and took off his jacket.
"No," she said.
"Shut up. "
He covered her.
But his fingers lingered on the hem of his heavy sheepskin
jacket. The fingers remembered what the drugged mind had
forgotten.
He found the loop of thread and pulled it carefully.
' 'What are you doing?"
She was breathing heavily, but her eyes were open. She
was unstoppable.
"How do you feel?" he said as a long, paper-thin packet
fell into his hand.
C'Lousy. What else?"
"An honest woman. " He smiled into her blue, bloodshot
eyes. "Honest women have always been my downfall. "
She sighed, and years of toughened protection sloughed
away. Suddenly she was young and vulnerable. A child
who'd grown up so fast that the childhood had had to be
abandoned unfinished.
She touched his cheek.
"Thank you. "
"Stay covered," he said. He kissed the hand and slid it
back beneath his jacket.
She smiled wanly and closed her eyes. She would sleep.
The best medicine. ne magician must have given her a dose
as large as Carter's. With her lower weight, she was




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having an understandably bad reaction.
He returned to the iron door and opened the packet. Inside
were a small lockpick, a file, various medicinal pills in a flat
container, compressed pellets that were like miniature hand
grenades, and four sheets of paper-backed tape strips.
He peeled off one strip of the tape. Since there was no lock
on this side of the door, there was no way to pick it. But the
tape would help.
He pressed four strips of the tape in the shape ofa rectangle
on the door where he estimated a lock should be. He made the
rectangle small to conserve on tape. He scratched his
thumbnail over the tape, then turned his head.
Instantly he felt the heat and smelled the ozone.
When he looked back, the tavxs had scorched off and a
trench had burned into the thick iron.
He did this five times.
At last the tape ate through, and the piece of iron rectangle
fell inside the dcx»r that was hollow after all.
But there was no lock. He reached inside the door and felt
around. At last he found it, but it was low , out of reach, very
close to the ground.
The discovery discouraged him, but it also helped to con-
firm his suspicions. They were in a structure probably built in
the Middle Ages when people were much shorter and locks
were not only primitive, but considerably lower. And from
the look and smell of this dungeon and the placement of the
lock, their prison was probably beneath a castle.
He sat back on his haunches and considered the door. He
didn 't have enough tape to go through the procedure again to
burn out a piece of the iron where the lock was. He didn 't
want to wait until someone came to get them. Boards didn't
appeal to him as the best of weapons.
Weapons. That was it.
He smiled and took out two of the compressed pellets from




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the packet. ney were miniature hand grenades—not as
much punch as the full-size ones, but certainly enough for the
job at hand.
He returned to Annette. She'd slept another half hour. He
hoped that it was enough.
SAnnette. "
Color had returned to her face, and she'd moved in her
sleep, her face now against the wall, the lamplight making
her hair glow like beaten gold.
' 'How do you feel?"
She opened her eyes and turned to look at him.
don't know," she said.
"We're ready to break out, but I don 't want to do it until
you can at least walk. "
'Of course. "
She'd learned her lesson. She sat up slowly, breathing
deeply. He supported her shoulders.
"I hate tring an invalid. "
"The weakness will pass. "
She ncxided and stood. Her legs were wobbly, but she
refused to give in to their uncertainty.
"l 'm ready, " she announced.
"We'll wait until I think you're ready. "
She glared at him, too drained for the emotion necessary to
object.
'How old were you when you emigrated?" he said, wish-
ing he had a cigarette to offer her.
"Sixteen. I went directly to a kibbutz in the Sinai. "
C 'And how old were you when your parents died?"
"Ten. nen I lived with foster families. Some were kind.
Some weren't. "
He watched her heavy breathing , knowing the effort to talk
was exhausting. But it would help clear her head.
€ 'How many foster families?"



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'Fourteen. " She smiled crookedly. "I wasn 't easy. Tney
passed me around. "
' 'You were angry, Angry your parents had died and de-
serted you to such an insecure, unfriendly future."
She shrugged, a sign she was feeling better. She hadn't
noticed the improvement yet.
"I didn't analyze it. When friends of my parents invited
me to the Sinai, the agency let me go. They were relieved to
be rid of me, I
Her skin color was healthier. Her eyes clearer. Her voice
stronger.
"Can you stand away from the wall now?" he asked.
She moved so that her weight was completely on her feet.
She blinked her eyes slowly and realized she felt better. She
reached up to her hairs touching the stiff straw. She pulled out
pieces.
"I must a mess," she muttered. Then she looked at
him. "You 're right. I am better. Let's get on with it. »€hat do
you have in mind?"
He told her. She nodded crisply, then handed him his
jacket.
She returned to the straw and lay flat, face down, ams
over her head.
He pulled the tabs on the hand grenade pellets and tossed
the little bombs down the door's hole. "Ihen he raced across
the room to fall next to her, arms over his head, too.
The impact of the explosion shuddered over them.
Smoke and dust clotted the air. Caner and Annette
coughed and looked up.
The way was clear to escape. The thick iron hung
partially open, attached only from the top hinge. The bottom
of the door angled sharply up, a hole blasted near the floor.
The blast had been large enough to free them, and with the




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thickness of the castle walls, perhaps small enough that no
one else had heard.
Caner and Annette jumped up. He looked once at her and
saw that she was well enough now to make herself move fast.
They ran through the churning cloud of dirt particles and
out down a long conidor.
' ' Where to?" she gasped.
"I've been promoted, he said, grinning. "She's actually
asking, not telling."
"If you don 't have any ideas, she said, ignoring him, "I
have a suggestion. "
"I know this castle. There was pan of a drawing on the
wall. I saw it when we were talking. I can get us out of here. "
Carter nodded.
' 'Lead on," he said.
They on down the moldy comdor, past the trickle that
dripped with imtating regularity between limestone blocks,
to the corner where the corridor ended in a T.
They slid flat against the wall. No voices. Caner peered
around the edge. No one. Their captors tmsted the old dun-
geon to keep the two agents imprisoned.
With Annette in front, they ran on along another corridor,
this one with open rooms that had once stored grains, vegeta-
bles, cured meats, and coal. At last they came to steps wide
enough that six people abreast could comfortably climb
them.
Annette pressed a forefinger to her lips and, stealthy as a
cat, climbed the stone stairs. Above them, an old embroi-
dered tapestry hung from a wrought-iron staff. They were
entering temtory where there was a greater chance of discov-
ery.
They moved like shadows along the wall, ducking into a



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room behind a closed door as a butler, proper in black tails
and starched white shirt, carried a silver tray with a single
bottle of "Ihree Turkeys rye like a flagpole in the center.
"Wait, " Annette cautioned Carter as he started to move
out from the room. "He'll be back. "
The room was decorated in watery pastels, the wainscoting
pale pink, the walls a washed-out blue. The fumiture was
light and ornate with spindly legs and graceful curves. A
large embroidery hoop was mounted next to a rcx•king chair.
A half-finished forest drawing on an easel next to a
petit-point chair. lhere was a harpsichord, a flute, and a
rolltop desk displaying a time-faded account book open next
to an inkwell. It was the drawing room where long ago the
castle's noblewomen had gathered to occupy themselves,
manage the estate, and teach the family •s young girls the
skills necessary to be ladies.
"It's the Van Hornbostel castle, " Annette whispered. 'SA
West German historical monument. Owned by a private
investment group now but open to tourists every day. Makes
money and is a tax write-off. "
The implication in her tone was that if the government
owned the castle, the money would be going to feed and
clothe the poor and not lining the unpatched pockets of the
already wealthy.
"You 've been here before?" he said.
was an art history major. I studied the castle for two
weeks. The university in Jerusalem sent me. " She watched
out the crack of the door. "There goes old Joachim. The
butler. It's safe now."
They again ran down the corridor, but this time only to the
next door. She paused at the door, and the two pressed their
ears to it. There were voices inside, talking in a babble of
languages.
She glanced at him, telling him with her eyes to follow




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again. They ran lightly twenty paces and turned right beneath
an ornate crystal chandelier, down another corridor. This one
was short, but it was lined like the others with family B'r-
traits, tapestries. and occasional suits of gleaming armor.
"The library," she whispered. "An enormous room.
We have less chance of being noticed in this hall. Out of the
traffic flow. "
Again they preqsed ears to the The babble of lan-
guages was quieting. One voice dominated. A man 's. It had
an English accent, high-class Oxbridge. A voice Carter rec-
ognized. He lcxjked down at the old doorknob and squatted.
Yes, the keyhole was large. He peered through and into a
room lined with leather-bound books rising from the hand-
knotted antique carpet to the arched plaster ceiling. And at
the end of a long library table, around which eleven people
sat, stood Mr. Justice Paul Stone, the same judge who had
been a member of the exclusive luncheon club at Andrea
Sutton 's Greek restaurant in Soho.
s 'It is a pity, " Stone was saying in his clipped speech,
'but we must rid ourselves of the riqk if our work is to go on.
Andrea has been told. The executioners are on their way. "
The men at the table nodded solemnly. They looked like a
board of directors accepting the face-saving resignation of
someone they 'd already fired. The magician, now wearing a
natty tweedjacket, was one of them, sitting next to a man in a
plain black suit. He was the Slav from Heinnch's photo-
graph. Across from them, sitting with his chair at an angle,
was the member of Parliament, William Reid, also from the
Soho gathering. He wore a pin-striped suit and rep tie, and
blew perfect smoke rings into the air above the table. His
aristocratic face was set immobile. He didn 't like the decision
but accepted the necessity. It was part of taking responsibility
for one's beliefs.
"It's all quite legal," Mr. Justice Stone went on. A tall,



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NICK CARTER
thin man with craggy features, he had a face that had seldom
had to accept defeat. Life's struggles had been lessons for
him in certainty. Philosophy was a game for amateurs, and a
real leader knew what was wrong and did something about it.
Anyone wanting solutions would be attracted to him, and he
would accept their allegiance as his logical reward.
' 'You were able to draw justice on them? ' ' William
Reid asked. For a mind that lived by preordained opinions,
form was as important as substance.
"Naturally, " the justice assured him. "I refer to the law
on traitors. If the American and Israeli were merely
busybodies, we would be able to distract and diffuse them. If
they were foreign spies for a power that had declared war on
us, we would have to hold them prisoner until the end of the
war. But they supposedly work with and for us. Their aims
are the same as ours—peace andjustice for all. Nevertheless,
they are trying to stop us. They are traitors to our cause. Ihe
justice papers have been legally drawn. Death warrants, of
course. The two will be executed at twilight. Any ques-
Carter looked up at Annette.
"You heard?" he asked.
She nodded, her face flushed with anger.
Running feet thundered down the long corridor outside the
library's front entrance.
"Our weapons are on the table," he told her. "Can you
distract them, get them out of the I'll grab our—
The library door banged open.
"They've escaped! " the voice boomed in German.
Quickly Carter dropped to the keyhole. A second later the
dozen men were on their feet, moving toward the door, their
faces stretched in alarm.
"Both?" the judge asked the guard who had brought the
news.




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It was the from Werner Hall in East Berlin, and
with him was another of the men who had captured Carter
there.
'They bombed the door! " the tx)uncer said, his head
wagging back and forth as he watched the expensively dres-
sed board of directors flood out the door. "We didn 't hear a
thing. We'd have heard that, don't you think? A bomb!"
In a natural reaction to any escape, the captors were on
their way to the empty cell. It was a fruitless gesture. They
should have formulating a plan to look for the prisoners,
but surprise often shocked the sense out of people.
'Gross negligence! " the judge accused the bouncer as he
strode last through the door. "You relied on the secunty of
the cell instead of posting a guard!"
The German Ss head drooped. Guilt spread across his face.
Then determination to do better. He followed his employers
out and tidily shut the door.
"Wait here, " Caner told Annette.
He opened the door, dashed inside, scooped up the Luger,
Walther, two knives, his gas tX)mb, and his gold cigarette
case, and ran back to Annette in the side corridor. He shut the
door and handed the Walther to the Israeli agent.
She held the gun a moment, her gaze on it as if it were a
long-lost lover. Then she checked the chambers, hefted it,
and watched Carter do the same with his Luger. They smiled
at one another, sharing a conspiracy of relief, then slipped
their knives into the secret cases on their arms, and Caner
secured his gas bomb on his inner thigh
"London next, " Caner told her as they slipped down the
hall. "There 's a woman in Soho. Now that I know she has the
key, I'll be able to get the information. "
"You 're sure?" she asked, her eyes narrowed in suspi-
cion.
' 'Positive. 



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The two agents stopped at the intersection with the main
corridor.
Carter peered around the corner and looked directly into
the eyes of the tx)uncer.
It was an act of chance. At any other time, the East
German 's gaze would likely have elsewhere, scanning
the corridor, doing his job of guarding now that he had no one
to guard but doing it well because Mr. Justice Stone had
shamed him.
The bouncer instantly recognized his missing captive.
With reflexes trained to act without thinking, the aimed his
M-16.
Carter ducked.
The bullet tore out a hole in the wall 's edge. Splinters shot
like needles through the air. The noise reverberated. Shouts
erupted from both ends of the central comdor.
'Damn! " Carter swore.








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There was a sudden silence as if the old castle were holding
its breath. Then heavily booted feet pounded toward them.
The old castle echoed. But the thick floors and walls seemed
quietly unmoved, unaffected by the impact of the M- 16 blast,
the thundering feet, the sense of impending death. History
took little notice of the tantrums of the present, mindlessly
swallowing the spilled blood of the present 's obligation to the
continued warfare of the future.
"Around the comer! " the tx)uncer shouted in German.
'Rifles! " ordered the refined voice of Mr. Justice Stone.
There was the sound of a cabinet unlocking, the rustling of
bodies and weapons, the loading of rifles, the sotto voce of a
plan formulated, related, and put into action by well-trained,
obedient hands and minds.
The castle's men closed in on the short hallway.
Without even glancing at one another, Nick Carter and
Annette Burden turned on their heels and ran back down the
corridor, past the side door to the library, past the pennants
and portraits and gleaming armor, to the window that over-
looked a rolling countryside greening with spring grasses.
But directly beneath the window a wide moat dug for
protection in the Middle Ages shimmered like silver sequins
in the sun.







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"Up," Annette said, pulling on the glass window proba-
bly installed in the nineteenth century.
"Better than down, " Carter agreed, straining with her to
open the large-paned glass.
The feet pounded into the hallway.
"There they are!" a voice shouted.
As bullets bit into the wall, Carter picked up an
eighteenth-century chair and tossed it through the glass. The
two agents kicked the remaining glass shards through the
window as the chair splashed into the moat.
"You first!" Caner commanded, tuming and firing as
Annette crawled out the window and began the climb up-
ward.
Carter's bullet tore through the center of the lead man 's
forehead, blasting bone, tissue, and cartilage in a waterspout
that sprayed the wall and half a fifteenth-century tapestry a i
brilliant red. lhe dead man flew backward from the bullet's
impact, ams outstretched, into his comrades.
The men recoiled, shocked by the pulpy head , the spuming
blood, and the easy mortality. If enough time elapsed be-
tween violent deaths, the more well-trained professional
often forgot the individuality of the homfying details. For-
getfulness is man 's automatic tranquilizer.
Their hesitation was all that Caner needed.
He jumped onto the ledge, dropped his gun into his pocket,
and pulled himself up on the roughly cut limestone rectangles
thatjutted out to form the castle 's outer wall. His hands bled.
His feet slipped on the treacherous surface.
"Hurry! " Annette called from above on the ramparts.
He glanced down. Heads stuck out the big window, staring
up. A rifle reached out.
He scrambled on.
Two bullets whizzed past his ear.
A voice screamed from below. Annette had gotten one of
them.





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Carter slipped and pulled himself upward, gunshots shat-
tering his eardrums as Annette fired every time one of them
stuck a head or arm out the window.
At last he reached the top and flopped over the rampart 's
edge, exhausted.
"No time for that," Annette said impatiently.
€ g What do you mean?" he panted. "You 've been resting
up here while I've climbing Mount Everest!"
True to fonn, without a smile or any other friendly
acknowledgment, she ran off around the walk that rimmed
the top of the castle. At one time, an archer or bowman would
have been stationed at every cut in the fortification to dis-
courage the advances of the armies of neighboring duchies.
"Don 't bother to wait for me," he called and got to his
feet.
She disappeared around a corner. Behind him, shouts rang
again, and he heard the rising noise of feet running with the
gracelessness of an army in disarray. Heads, shoulders, and
rifles appeared out of an open space behind and to his right: a
wide soldiers' staircase.
"Damn!" he cursed again.
He rounded the comer, expecting to find Annette waiting,
and there they'd have to make a stand. There was nowhere
else to go. It would be a certain bloodbath.
But she was right again, her memory serving them both
well. There was a small door.
He opened it. A narrow stairway wound darkly down. He
descended eagerly, two, three stories, toward the warm
aromas of Westphalian ham, spicy schnitzel, and rich
strudel. His mouth salivated. He realized he was starving.
A hand grabbed his arm out of nowhere. He hadn 't yet
reached the kitchen.
'Carter. "
Her voice. Cool, briskly collected.
' 'Dammit, Annette! "





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NICK CARTER
"Come on," she said.
He could feel her move, pushing on something on the wall.
The wall rotated.
Suddenly they were in a dining room lit only by sunshine
through slatted louvers. The long table was set with antique
Bavarian china, Düsseldorf sterling, and Hanover crystal. It
waited suspended in time as if to serve a hunting party of
nobles and aristocrats who would gather from as far away as
Münich.
She tugged on his arm, and they stepped away from the
wall. She pressed a carved panel, and the wall again rotated,
returning to its proper place a narrow serving table and,
above it, three stuffed grouse.
"Never did like those grouse, " she muttered, striding off
across the shadowy, dim room.
"Where to now, as if it did any gcxxi to ask?"
She slid the fifteen-foot-tall panel door open a crack. He
peered through it, too, over her head.
' 'It's clear, " she said, and they pushed the door open just
wide enough so that they could sidle through.
They padded down another corridor that was in a different
wing of the castle , obvious because of their earlier trip across
the rampart fortifications. But this corridor seemed identical
to the first one. Only the faces in the portraits had changed.
As they passed a window , Carter touched Annette 's shoul-
der.
"Look over there. "
A helicopter was landing on one of the rolling green lawns.
The whirling blades beat the tulips, pansies, and forsythia
into a froth of colors. Three men hopped out of the aircraft,
heads ducked, wearing dull black jump suits, carrying M- 16
rifles with telescopic sights, duffle bags slung over their
backs.
"The executioners," Annette whispered.
' 'It won't be so easy now," Carter said. "How do we get





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out of here. or don 't you know?' S
She strode on.
125
"We can't exactly walk out the front door," she said.
"Why not?" he said. "You have a better idea?"
She coldly appraising the idea.
"Bold, and they wouldn't expect it," she decided. "All
right. Let's go. "
He chuckled at her bright stubbornness, and the two crack
agents reversed their direction and raced down the comdor
toward the front of the castle. They turned comers, ran
beneath chandeliers that shone with light bulbs where hand-
dipped candles had once flickered, ducked into linen closets
and bedrooms to avoid groups of roving sentries, passed tall
ornate chairs in which no one had bothered to sit in the last
hundred years, and startled young maids wearing frilly white
aprons and carrying feather dusters and spray wax.
Slowly the sound of voices grew.
In a castle that was a maze of comdors and rooms, prey
could hide indefinitely from even an army. But this prey—
Caner and Annette—had a mission to accomplish, and they
couldn 't spend any more time dodging and hiding.
The executioners stood in the marble foyer, talking with
Mr. Justice Stone while around them hovered first the board
of directors and then the bouncer with his arrned guards.
The executioners turned in different directions, nodding.
One of them gestured in a sweeping move that encompassed
the entire castle. Another gave a short series of barks that
were orders. The guards spread out, and the three execution-
ers left, heading where they had faced, walkie-talkies on their
belts, M-16s ready for any action.
Caner and Annette slipped inside one more door, waited
until the heavy feet passed, counted to twenty, then cracked
the door, checked, and moved stealthily back into the cor-
ridor.
The foyer was almost empty. Only four guards were in





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NICK CARTER
sight: one on either side of the main doors, and the other two
at the back of the foyer where a wide staircase rose between
walnut pillars.
Carter flipped his stiletto into his hand. Annette watched,
nodded silently, and did the same With her own razor-sharp
knife.
They looked into each other's eyes, knowing the plan by
simple logic. "Ihey watched the guards, waiting for the right
moment when they would be elsewhere.
Then, silent as jungle predators, they raced the last of the
corridor, Caner easily in the lead but not by much. A light
film of sweat glistened on Annette's serious face. Her blue
eyes were steely, cold as ever.
As Caner sprinted farther ahead, she jumped the first
guard by the dcx»r. Yanked his head back to her shoulder.
Jammed the knife up under his rib cage. Blood spuned onto
the floor, and he collapsed into it just as the other guard next
to the door turned around.
Carter flipped the second guard the rest of the way , keep-
ing him off balance.
"They're here!" one of the guards at the back of the
marble foyer shouted into his walkie-talkie.
Annette aimed , fired, and shot both men through the heart,
clean holes that empted black with blood.
Carter snapped the neck of the guard he'd flipped. Ihe
neck had once been thick with muscle but was now flabby
from overindulgence in food and liquor. The guard toppled
over, brain dead.
Annette was at the front door, tugging. Carter grabbed the
brass rings and pulled. Down the corridors to the right and
left, feet and shouts thundered toward them.
With Caner's strength, the doors swung open.
The two agents stared for a moment, thunderstruck.
Forty feet ahead, covering like a wall the wide drawbridge




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127
over the shimmering moat. a company of men in camouflage
fatigues marched directly toward them.
lhe sergeant, who bore no country •s insignia on his hat or
clothes, took one at Carter and Annette, aimed his rifle.
and fired. His men aimed their rifles too.
Instantly the two agents jumped aside and shoved the tall
closed. The round of ammunition smashed a beveled
floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the foyer.
"Shit!" Carter said, disgusted. "Up the stairs again!
We've no choice!"
"Drop the lock bar across the doors!" Annette said.
"Leave it as it is! " he shouted and ran toward the stairs. "l
have an idea. I want everyone inside the castle. It will make
our escape easier. '
"What escape?" Annette said, following him up the stair-
case. "Every minute our chances decrease!"
It was his turn to ignore her as they tore on breathless up the
castle's four stories. Behind them in the foyer, the troops
joined the castle 's guards and the executioners to pursue with
renewed enthusiasm. The hunters smelled blood. The two
condemned agents would be trapped on the rampans.
And killed leisurely as if they were target ducks.
At the top of the castle , Carter and Annette ran out onto the
empty fortifications. He gestured, leading her to the back of
the castle.
' 'What now?' ' she panted, looking out over the green hills
that would lead to freedom, London, and answers to the
questions of what this group was and what it was doing.
Stopping one leg of an octopus only slowed it. The whole
entity needed to be immobilized.
He grinned at her.
' 'No! " she said. S' You wouldn 't. At least, I wouldn't!"
"You have an alternative?"
"l don't know how to dive!"




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"Aren't you lucky," he said, picking her up. "Today's
the day you get to learn. "
'It 's four goddamned stories! " she cried, staring down at
the moat that meant freedom but also perhaps a broken limb,
fractured neck, or smashed back.
"Feet fint," he said. "It's safest. "
The maddening noise of their pursuers topped the staircase
and spread out across the ramparts.
'Then you go first. Show me. '9
He looked at her, acutely aware of the loss of important
time.
"Promise me?" he said.
"Sure. "
He set her on her feet.
Bullets whistled past them. She squatted and fired.
don't believe you, " he decided, and knelt and fired
beside her. The pursuers ducked behind ramparts and walls.
' 'Will you get the hell out of here?" she screamed.
He studied her. If one of them didn 't do something, it'd be
too late. He stepped into the rampart 's cut, looked down , and
gauged the distance as bullets in erratic bursts sliced through
the air around him.
' 'Ell expect you to be thirty seconds me, " he told
her, looking back at her for an answer.
Her head was covered with blood.
She lay flat, still, unmoving in death. Her arm was crooked
beneath her. The leg jutted unnaturally. A sharp pain pierced
his heart.
Annette !
"We got her!" someone shouted triumphantly. '*Now
him
The guards, executioners, and troops swarmed over the
top of the castle, their guns spraying bullets in a hail of certain
death. His death.



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His heart aching with loss, he leaped. He leaped not only
for himself, but for Annette. Her work was as important to
her as his was to himself. She card about the world.
He hit the water with his body in perfect alignment. He
sliced deep into the wet darkness, and swam underwater
toward the bank. He would fulfill his assignment, resolve the
problem, and stop the killers whose latest unnecessary victim
had been his friend and companion Annette Burden.






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THIRTEEN
From the pub across the street, Nick Carter watched a
young man in a pillbox hat deliver the big gift-wrapped
and the dozen long-stemmed yellow roses to Andrea Sutton 's
Greek restaurant in Soho. It was six o'clock in the evening,
the sun a fiery orange blaze as it settled into London 's thick)
horizon smog.
Carter sipped his beer, the memory of Annette 's death still
fresh and painful. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her
vibrance, her blond beauty, and the honest, courageous quale
ities that had made her a remarkably good agent. Missing her
made his chest ache with a dull throb.
It had taken him three patient days to work his way out of
the south German countryside, past the persistent searchers
and their dogs, and reach a safe phone. And then with
Hawk's speedy response of AXE equipment, he*d refitted
himself and flown to London. Once there, he 'd taken a taxi to
Harrods in Knightsbridge, the expensive department store
where he'd found the peignoir set for Andrea. Andrea would
like that it had come from Harrods.
He drank his beer, giving her time to open the box, arrange
the flowers, and be waiting for him. He counted on their last
meeting, the memories and sex, to put her in the mood he
wanted.





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He'd figured out enough of what to expect from her and
from the unknown organization assassinating world leaders
and leaving death warrants that, this time, he'd come pre-
pared.
No more directness. No more out-in-the-open weapons.
Instead, deviousness and hidden resources.
He finished the beer and strode across the street. Empty
trash cans littered the Soho sidewalks. A young punk flower
vendor with purple hair called her wares. Dixieland music
drifted from an American-style honky-tonk three doors
away. It was still early for the dinner crowd, but late enough
that after-work drinkers and the disappointed wealthy were
safely, happily, on their ways to alcoholic nirvanas.
Caner passed a crowd of revelers and entered the Trojan
Horse.
"Reservation, sir?"
The older man standing behind the desk had thick white
hair swept back in waves, and clear B)lish on his fingemails
that caught the lamplight in brief, bright glints.
"Nick Carter. I believe Lady Sutton is expecting me.
' 'Ah, yes."
The response was instant. The eyebrows shot up, im-
pressed. Lady Sutton was obviously acting in an unusual
manner.
SSShe said to go up. You'd know the way. "
Carter nodded and walked through the dining room. He
felt the curious, jealous gaze of the maitre d' follow as he
passed the arched alcoves displaying the small reproductions
of classical statuary. At the end of the dining room he dou-
bled back to the closed-off waiting area at the front of the
restaurant near the bar, and then went through the side door
that opened onto the spiral staircase.
' 'Nick! Darling! " she called down as he closed the door.
"Come up. I've a surprise for you!"





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The maitre d' must have used a hidden intercom to alert
Andrea that he had arrived. Carter didn 't mind. It made the
job simpler. He climbed the stairs.
"Champagne?" she asked, standing at the top of the
landing green with hanging ferns and ivies.
She held a bottle of Mumm 's and two crystal champagne
flutes. She opened her arms, smiled, and turned to show off
the new yellow peignoir set of lace and silk. She moved
slowly, aware that it clung to her female roundness, accented
her in an open, willful invitation to sex.
"The champagne later," he said gruffly.
He walked to her, picked her up, and camied her into the
bedroom.
She clung to his neck, head throun back, breathing
deeply. He felt his own excitement rise, swell.
Her eyes half closed. She licked her lips.
Carter lay her on the bed. Then he took the champagne
bottle and glasses from her hands as she watched him with hot
eyes, and set them on the bedside table. He took a handful of
the fabric of her peignoir where her breasts rose and fell. He
slid the lace and silk away from the scented naked porcelain
of her flesh.
She gasped. Her gray eyes flared with demanding need.
"Not yet," he said.
He took off his jacket, folded it, and draped it over a chair.
He took off his shirt, folded it, and dra1Rd it over the jacket.
She watched him, breathing heavily, breasts trembling. He
kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, unzipped his pants,
stepped out of them, and folded them over his shirt. She
reached shaky hands toward his shorts.
He let her pull the shorts out away from his jutting male-
ness. She moaned, and yanked the pants down to his ankles.
"Nick, 1
He pushed her back. She spread her eager legs high and
open. He looked deep into the familiar gray eyes.





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"Now!" she cried. "Oh, Nick. Please, now!"
133
He entered her wet heat, knowing who she was, what she 'd
done, and what she planned to do. Knowing and wanting her
because he couldn 't forget what they 'd shared ten years ago.
Because he remembered what he now had to do. Because the
life exploding fiery between them was ricocheting the world
into an uncertain, dangerous future.
' 'You 'II join us, then?" she said two hours later as they
dressed. "David knew. He knew that governments all across
the world lacked the strength and foresight to take care of
criminals in any meaningful. lasting way. You and David
always thought alike. Oh, Nick, do join us and save the
"I still don't know who 'us' is, and what your group is
about. "
"But I can 't tell you yet, " she said as she put on a white
linen blouse and stepped into a slim, pearl-gray skirt. "First
you must join us. Then you can meet my brave associates.
Together we'll tell you all about it. "
"I can't agree to something I know nothing about," he
said as he looked in the mirror to adjust his tie. ' 'Anyone
who'd do that is a fool. And you wouldn't want a fool for a
partner. "
She watched over his shoulder as he straightened the tie
and brushed his hair. Her chiseled face was puzzled, worried.
She'd hoped he'd be quick to agree. But at least he hadn't
refused.
"You told the people in David's haiku codes that I'd be
Investigating them," he said, looking at her in the mirror.
4' You ruined any chance I had of getting information. And
you almost got me killed—several times—particularly by
your Mr. Justice Stone in that German castle. "
She nodded, aware of her guilt.
"What could I do?" she said. "I'm sorry about the Israeli





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agent—I understand you were close—--but I'm more sorry
. . we shared something
about my David 's death. He and .
that you and I never had. He was a true hero. He dared to go
against societal norms. We all know that what 's happening in
our legal systems is wrong, but David was the only one who
had the courage to do something!"
Her head was high and proud, her rich brown hair thrown
back over her shoulders. She looked like a queen, the
widowed queen of a tragic hero. She had not loved David
with the passion of her true love for Carter, but sometime in
the last few years she had found a substitute—fanaticism.
With fanaticism she bound herself to David in a commitment
made stronger by its roots in neurosis. A fanatic was someone
who redoubled his efforts after his aims were lost, and her
aim to love David was now out of reach. His death had
finished that.
"I came to you," Carter said, "even though I knew that
you'd warned David's people. You could have had your
executioners waiting to kill me. Isn 't my risk great enough to
show my sincerity? I won't promise you anything, but I'm
willing to at least talk to your people. "
She looked at herself and Carter standing in the mirror.
The gray eyes appraised them. Such a handsome couple, her
expression seemed to say, so much potential
together
they could solve the world's problems.
"Take David's place,"
she urged him. "Finish the
work. "
"I 'II talk to your associates," he said noncommittally.
"That's all I can promise. "
At dawn the next day, the twin-engine Cessna left Heath-
row and angled south over the English Channel and into
France. Andrea was at the controls, flying as if it were a thrill
second only to sex. She held her chin high, her eyes half





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135
closed. The nostrils of her upturned nose flared as if she could
already smell their destination.
They continued south over Rouen, Tours, Bordeaux, and
then over the Pyrenees-—the high mountains of the Basques,
dotted with hidden villages, isolated by stubborn indepen-
dence, and colored by black berets and red cummerbunds—
and into northern Spain.
After flying for miles over mountainous areas
only by forests and game, she landed the Cessna on a
blacktopped strip at the base ofa long valley lined thick with
trees and wildflowers.
A platoon of soldiers in camouflage fatigues ran toward
them from the trees and a low brown and green shed at the end
of the strip. They surrounded the plane. One of them rested
his rifle over his arm and opened the door.
It was the bouncer from Werner Hall, his beefy face
glowering up at Carter, wishing he had orders to kill Caner,
not to ensure his safety.
"Channed to see you again, " Carter told him.
'You know each other?" Andrea said cheerfully , looking
at the two men. "Already you're off to a good start, " she
assured Caner, smiling, then she marched briskly up steps
hewn from the earth and supported by timbers.
"Is everyone here?" Carter asked.
' no meet you, yes. "
He heard the pleased smile in her voice as she climbed
ahead of him. Periodically she would look up the mountain-
side. They had mounted close to a hundred steps when he at
last saw what she watched for—their destination.
' 'It 's our aerie, " she explained, waving her hand as more
of the soaring structure came into view.
A natural building created out of timber, stone, and glass,
its shingled roof was built in a wide vee that tilted down
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were three stories, each accented by sequentially wider bal-
conies, the narrowest balcony on the lowest level. Ihe
enormous floor-to-ceiling windows on each level out
across the valley.
The modern structure was set into the mountain, a massive
building as long as a football field but as disguised by its
natural materials as was a bird 's nest built into the fork of two
branches.
This enormous aerie would house much more than an
occasional weekend meeting. And already Caner had seen
signs of thorough security: wires, arrned guards posted in the
shadows, alarms, and what looked like in the distance gun
emplacements mounted in concrete bunkers painted in
camouflage colors.
The vast scope of the aerie meant money, expertise, and
planning on a grand scale. David Sutton might have been
ambitious, but he'd never had the connections nor the vision
to activate such a mammoth undertaking.
Carter followed Andrea through a torii gate—a Japanese
welcome arch---and along a gravel path lined with boulders
and spring mountain flowers. The three executioners in their
black jump suits stepped from the comer of the house.
Wordlessly they searched Caner, took his Luger, stiletto,
and gas bomb, and faded back into the dark, earth-smelling
shadows from which they'd come.
Andrea watched, waiting until they'd tumed. She nÜed
her thanks, then led Caner onto the wooden porch of the
house's first level.
Behind them, the platoon spread out. Some stayed on the
slope nearby, others climbed outside staircases to station
themselves on the two other balconies.
Andrea turned and smiled at Carter. She straightened his
tie, smoothed his lapels. Then she led him into the aerie.








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Nick Carter and Lady Andrea Sutton walked through the
sunny rcx)m decorated with Danish modem furniture, an old
dhurrie rug, and Balinese masks hung on the natural plank
walls. She led him past the fireplace with its fifteen-foot
hearth and down a hallway that changed from wood-paneling
to solid concrete by the time they reached the metal desk.
There a guard surrounded by electronic surveillance equip-
ment sat monitoring television cameras.
"Use the palm tester, " the guard said to Andrea.
Behind him, the television screens showed sweeping
views of the forest and valley, wide angles of the aerie's
interior and exterior, and a group of men in camouflage
uniforms sitting in a classroom where a lecturer pointed to
lethal chemical compounds written on a blackboard.
Caner and Andrea walked to a steel dCK)r that showed no
hinges, knob, or window. She pressed her hand against a
glass plate embedded in the wall next to it.
' 'Each day we use a different code to enter, " she explained
to Caner. ' 'Sometimes we punch in a number. Sometimes we
put one of our hairs in an analyzer. Only the duty guard and
his superior know the code from day to day. "
The glass under her hand darkened from clear translucence
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to pastel green to rich emerald. A buzzer sounded somewhere
above their heads. The steel door swung open.
They walked in.
Eleven imposing men and women were seated around a
long conference table that could comfortably accommodate
only one more. They watched curiously, suspiciously, as
Carter entered with Andrea. They were men and women in
their forties, fifties, and sixties, Imple who gave off power
and experience as casually as a did his stench.
The scene reminded Carter of the one in the castle library
he'd watched through the keyhole. There had been twelve
people there, and now with Andrea's presence, there were
twelve people here. The right number for a jury. Ihen the
memory came to him. Of course. There had also been eleven
people at the luncheon in Andrea 's Greek restaurant. Again ,
they 'd been waiting for her to complete their number .
. or
perhaps waiting for David. ftey'd truly shocked by
David 's death, and perhaps as shocked by Carter's presence
upstairs in Andrea's bedroom.
Carter almost smiled,
"Monsieur Carter," said a tall, lanky man.
The Frenchman arose to stand at the end of the shiny table,
his hands clasped tx•hind him , his hawk nose jutting fonvard.
The other members at the table looked at him with respect. To
his right sat Mr. Justice Paul Stone, allowing a small smile of
triumph on his aristocratic English face. The magician from
Werner Hall, the same man who had asked to hire Carter's
cab in Budapest, was there too.
Carter placed the others around the table from his vast
memory bank of government officials. Each was high up in
his nation 's ranks, but not at the very top level. There were no
prime ministers, presidents, or kings. Instead there were
ministers of information, members of national assemblies,
and even one United Nations representative, Trish Reynales





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from the United States. A raven-haired beauty, she watched
Carter, aware that they shared the same home country , curi-
ous whether he saw the world as a more important unity, saw
it her way.
His gaze moved past her and back to the French leader,
Count Bayard de Montalban. At last Caner had found the true
power behind the organization.
"Count Montalban, " he said, nodded.
Andrea smiled, then sat in the last empty chair. It was
waiting for her at the center of the table.
"Bon. " the count said. 'If you will bear with us, please,
Monsieur Carter. Lights. "
From a door at the side of the a technician ran out,
slipped a folding chair behind Carter, and returned to a
glass-walled room, Carter sat. "Ihe count sat. A projection
screen rolled down from the ceiling. The lights went out, and
color filled the austere meeting room.
Photos of the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II
flashed on the screen, followed by a montage of starving
children, mutilated adults missing limbs lost to carelessly
produced machinery, corpses killed in international wars,
civil wars, and ordinary gang street wars.
' 'Death and destruction, " the count said somberly. "We
see it all around. Human greed and ambition go unchecked in
our world because no one will take the responsibility to stop
the results. "
Car wrecks, a sinking oil tanker, and a baren landscape
where once thick grasses and healthy wildlife had flourished
showed on the screen.
"The president of the country decides he needs more
money for his secret account in the Grand Cayman Islands , "
the count said, "so he charges kickback fees from the interna-
tional corporation that wants to build a factory in his nation.
The president of the corporation is feeling bled by bribes, but




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he cannot raise prices and still remain competitive. His solu-
tion is to cut back on quality. The pans are rushed through
production, and quality control 't have the time to weed
out the defective ones. What hapcms?" The count's voice
rose with indignation. "Those small, seemingly marginal
parts break down. Elevators plummet. Cars go out of control.
Jets crash. lhere is an investigation. Proclamations are
made. Perhaps the corporation is even publicly embarrassed
or sued. But the corporation president still rules his empire,
and the president of the nation goes unnamed, unpunished,
free to require more kickbacks from anyone he chooses.
Meanwhile, uncounted numbers of human beings have been
killed or mutilated by these two men 's greed and ambition. "
As photos of war and starvation continued on the screen ,
the count talked on.
"You see, Monsieur Carter, we here in this room are
selfless people. We believe in global justice. Sir David
first brought the concept to me, we had no idea how wide the
appeal would be. We have new recruits each day , people who
believe that someone—an organization or a person---must
take charge. "
s 'A benevolent dictator, " Carter said.
"That's it, " the count said. "Lights, please. "
There was a rustling at the table as the projector went off
and the lights were turned on. The scenes on the screen had
kept everyone quiet with the sense of the oppressiveness of
such wide-scale, unstoppable abuse.
'We have grown tired of talk, " the count went on, sitting
stiff and straight in his chair. g Talk is easy, cheap, and
inesponsible. Action is the only means we have to stop the
men and women who start wars, starve the world's
and create the insufferable climate of immorality in which
their people suffer. "
He paused as those at the table murmured agreement.



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'Today's courts are a joke, " he continued. "Judges have
no FY)wer. Lawyers are paid to find loopholes that will free
criminals. We here in this room, and men and women of
conscience around the world, have taken an oath to stop this
injustice. "
WWAnd what of those who disagree?" Carter said.
g 'They disagree for selfish ends, ' ' the English justice said.
"Self-interest is what we're fighting. "
"It's for the good of the ordinary man," Andrea added.
' 'The only criminals who are ever really found guilty are the
poor, and even they don 't stay in prison long enough to
matter. "
SAnd you 've figured out what the 'good ' is that mankind
need?" Carter said.
The count snorted, stood, clasped his hands again behind
his back, and paced along the table.
"I know what you are getting at, young man," he told
Caner in his arrogant French voice. "We do not have the
right to make that decision for others. lhen, pray tell, who
does? God? Yes, of course, God. And it may be that God
speaks through us. We would like to that, but we are
not pretentious enough to claim it. No. Instead what we do
claim, do insist, and do act on is our belief thatsomeone must
do something to stop the world 's criminals. And not just the
Idi Amins, but the small pickpocket, too. All criminal be-
havior. If the courts won 't do it, then who tktter than us?"
"You're not elected, " Carter said. "You can 't ethically
represent people who don 't even know what you 're doing. 's
"In the end, they'll be grateful, " Trish Reynales, the
United Nations representative said quietly.
"In the end, they'll be terrified of you," Carter argued.
"You'll rule them. That is, after all, what rules people.
Laws. In a democracy, those laws are created by the elected
representatives of the people. But in your world, you are the




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law. What you say becomes law, And the people have no
recourse. "
"We'll listen to all pleas of mercy," the magician said
stiffly.
' 'The way you do now?" Carter said. "Your victims don •t
even know they're condemned. How can they plead for
mercy?
"They know by their criminal acts," the memtEr from
Japan's department of culture said. "Each human being
keeps an unconscious but very real tally of good and bad acts.
We all know when we 've acted criminally. Unfortunately,
not everyone cares. And those are the ones condemned. "
"What about reforming the courts in each of your coun-
tries?" Caner said. ' 'Work to strengthen and clean them
' 'Too long," said the member from Brazil.
"It's taken years for their decline,"
said Mr. Justice
Stone. "Sometimes even centuries. Working through the
bureaucracy to improve them could take equally as long. s'
And we would all be dead by then, " the count said, "and
what good would it do? No, Monsieur Carter. There is only
one way to achieve the speed and thoroughness of a
housecleaning. And that is our way. Ihe Rule of Justice and
Standards will make the world a pleasant, safe home for us
all."
"You twelve are the Rule of Justice and Standards,"
Carter mused. "And beneath you ar more juries, each in
different countries, all with one or two overlapping mem-
bers. Names of accused criminals are brought to the juries,
papers are drawn up, investigations held. Once the investiga-
tion is over, the information is voted on by the juries, and the
accused is either proclaimed innocent or guilty. And if
guilty—and my guess is that the overwhelming majority are





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found guilty—the accused is condemned. Death warrants are
issued, and the details of the execution are worked out by
hired executioners. "
C That is correct," the French count said. "Very good.
Perhaps Lady Sutton •s glowing assessment of your skills has
been accurate. '
' 'Bayard, " Andrea said, her soft gray eyes alight with the
promise of the future as she addressed the count, "Nick will
take David 's place. They were as alike as any two men could
be. He will help us triumph!"
"Not yet, " Carter said, standing. He walked to the count.
"You think you're improving the world. Your motive—if
that is your motive, and I doubt that it is—is good. But your
methods will destroy what you claim you want to save. "
A deep flush rose up the count 's throat. The jury members
moved restlessly.
"When you create your own laws without the consent of
the people you say you 're taking care of, " Carter went on,
"you're stealing their right to choose. You're stealing their
power. When you choose who will live and who will die,
you 're killing not just people, you're killing freedom. Free-
dom means not only the rights of the majority, it also means
respect for and protection of the few. You say you 're ridding
the world of criminals. But in reality you are just as criminal
as those you sentence to death. "
' 'Nick! No! " Andrea jumped up from her chair, knocking
it over. ' 'Don't say that! Don't believe that!"
' 'I can 't condone this kind of illegal, unethical activity, "
Carter insisted, his voice ringing. ' 'If you truly believe in
justice and standards, you must live impeccable lives your-
selves. You can't break the laws you say you're enforcing.
Putting a mock jury behind them to vote doesn 't take away
their illegality. You're wrong. Not only won 't I join you, I'll




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fight you—to the death, if necessary! "
' 'Nick!" Andrea burst into tears, sobbing against his
chest.
The count's face was mottled with rage. He stood stiffly,
an old soldier who'd risen through the ranks to a
general when France was fighting the Viet Cong in Vietnam
long before the United States entered that unwinnable war.
He was a hero of the humiliation at Dienbienphu. After that,
nothing could defeat him.
"You realize, Monsieur Carter," he said, his hawk nose
jutting down at the AXE agent, "that you have condemned
yourself. Bring the executioners in. "
"Bayard!" Andrea said, turning to him, wringing her
hands. "Please! Give him time. He 'II reconsider. I know he
will. "
' 'You are a silly child sometimes, Andrea, the count
said. He looked up.
The three executioners led by the bouncer from Werner
Hall walked into the room. The executioners stard with
interest. A new assignment. lhey liked their work. *Ihe
bouncer, new to the field, smiled. He had a personal grudge
against Carter, a man who 'd made a fool of him with a female
agent.
' Take him away, " the count said, then he returned to the
table and sat, ready to move on to new business. "Here is the
death warrant. Execute him immediately. "











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At the back of the aerie, in a hidden courtyard hollowed out
of the mountain, three different executioners led Nick Carter
across paving stones toward a wall where the bullets of
previous firing squads had bit deep hollows.
The door in the aerie behind them closed automatically,
silencing Lady Andrea Sutton's sobs.
On the mountainside above, the tall forest waved green
branches above the sheer rock from which the courtyard had
been hewn. Carter turned, his back to the firing squad wall.
Across from him, the aerie was a windowless wall as if
whatever took place in the courtyard were already an ac-
complished fact, no witnesses needed for an unpleasant but
necessary result of the responsibility involved.
"Only three of you?" Carter said casually. "I thought the
standard was six. Sure it's legal without six?"
' 'No matter to us, " the larger of the three executioners said
in slow English. He had heavy-lidded eyes that watched the
world with limited vision. "Pay's good. Rules no impor-
tant. " He gave a slow grin that showed uneven teeth and a
malevolent disposition. A man well suited to his job.



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